BY 


u 


The   Autobiography 
of    a   Tomboy. 


THE   TOMBOY. 


THE 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
OF  A  TOMBOY 

BY 

JEANNKTTE   1...  GILDER 

PICTURES  BY  FLORENCE  SCOl'EL  SHINN 


NEW   YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  CO. 

1 901 


Copyright,  1900,  by 
DOUBLED  AY,  PAGE  &  Co. 


STACK 
ANNEX 


TO 

MY    NIECE 

JEANNETTE    CHOLMELEY-JONES 

TO    WHOM    1    HAVE    OFTEN   TOLD 

THE  CONTENTS  OF  THIS  BOOK 

NOT    AS    AN    EXAMPLE 

BUT    AS 
A   WARNING 


List  of  Illustrations. 


PAGE 

TlTE  TOMBOY Frontispiece 

I  WAS  THE  ONLY  (!IRL  ALLOWED  TO 

RIDE  THIS  WONDERFUL  WHEEL  .  5 
STOPPING.;  AT  A  PUMP  THAT  STOOD 

THERE 13 

LIZZIE  ("MRS.  SINCLAIR")  ....  25 
SOUIJED  UPON  His  SHOULDER  .  .  .  37 
THERE  WAS  MUCH  BLUSIIINO  AND 

MUCH  GK;C,LTN<; 43 

I  MADE  A  DASH  FOR  MY  MOTHER'S 

ROOM 59 

'•'MOXKEY,  MONKEY,  BARREL  OF 

BEER,     How     MANY     MONKEYS 

HAVE  WE  HERE?" 69 

SAT  ON  A  FOOT-STOOL,  QUITE  OUT  OF 

SlCHT  OF  THE  CONGREGATION  .  S3 

MY  COUSIN  FANNY 103 

I  ASKED  MARY  JANE  IF  SHE  WAS 

A  COLORED  BYRON 125 

SHE  WANTED  TO  PLAY  "Puss  IN  THE 

CORNER" 141 

"LITTLE  PITCHERS  HAVE  Bio  EARS"  155 


List  of  Illustrations. 


I'AGE 


SAT  ON  A  STONE  FENCE  AND  BEAT 
RUSSET  APPLES  SOFT  ON  ITS  HARD 

TOP 175 

I   DRESSED  MYSELF   IN   SOME   VERY 

SHABBY  OLD  CLOTHES    .     .     .     .191 
I    WOULD    STAND    BEFORE    HIM    IN 

OPEN-MOUTHED  ADMIRATION       .  203 
THIS  WAS  TO  KEEP  OUT  THE   CHIL 
DREN    221 

COUSIN   FRANCES    LEFT    THE    TABLE 

IN  DISGUST       235 

"HELLO,  FRECKLES!" 249 

"Miss  KATE" 255 

A  LITTLE  PUSH-CART   MADE  BY  THE 

YOUNG  MEN 203 

"CHECKMATE!"  SAID  1 273 

DANCING  IN  THE  BIG  ROOM  ....  277 
"Snoo!  SHOO!"  SHE  SHOUTED  .  .  291 
I  LOOKED  BACK  AND  SAW  THE  TICKET 

AGENT  RUNNING  ITp  THE  TRACK  327 
"  DICKSEY,  I  HAVE  MADE  UP  MY  MIND 
TO  WORK"    ,  .  347 


The   Autobiography 
of  a   Tomboy. 


The   Autobiography 
of  a  Tomboy. 

i. 

Every  one  said  that  I  was  a  tomboy; 
and,  being  a  good  American,  I  bowed  to 
the  verdict  of  the  majority  and  was  happy. 
I  never  quite  understood  why  a  girl  who 
climbed  trees,  clung  to  the  tail-end  of 
carts,  and  otherwise  deported  herself  as  a 
well-conditioned  girl  should  not,  was 
called  a  tomboy.  It  always  seemed  to  me 
that,  if  she  was  anything  she  should  not 
be,  it  was  a  tomgirl.  However,  tomboy 
was  the  accepted  name  for  such  girls  as  I 
was,  and  there  was  no  use  in  arguing  the 
case.  After  all,  it  made  little  difference. 
I  did  not  care  what  they  called  me,  so 
long  as  they  let  me  alone;  but  that  they 
3 


4      Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

were  loath  to  do.  My  relations  and  friends 
of  the  family  predicted  all  sorts  of  dread 
ful  ends  for  me,  and  talked  in  my  pres 
ence  ahout  the  awful  fate  awaiting 
whistling  girls  and  crowing  liens.  I 
never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  a  crow 
ing  hen;  but  I  have  known  a  great  many 
whistling  girls,  and  I  cannot  recall  an  in 
stance  where  their  ends  were  any  worse 
than  those  of  other  girls. 

In  the  days  of  my  youth  the  sports  of 
girls  in  America  were  limited.  There  were 
no  such  games  as  lawn-tennis,  nor  golf, 
nor  basket-ball.  As  for  bicycles,  there 
were  none  anywhere.  A  boy  who  lived  in 
a  street  behind  ours  had  an  awkward 
three-wheeled  machine  that  he  called  a 
"verlosophy."  As  he  was  known  as 
"Bub,"  his  machine  was  always  spoken  of 
as  "Bub's  verlosophy."  I  was  the  only 
girl  allowed  to  ride  this  wonderful  wheel; 
perhaps  because  I  was  the  only  girl  who 
openly  expressed  a  desire  to  do  so  bold  a 
thing.  The  games  of  those  of  us  who 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.       7 

loved  to  be  out  of  doors  were  limited  to 
"tag"  and  tree-climbing;  the  latter  a 
stolen  pleasure,  but  all  tbe  more  delight 
ful  for  that  reason.  Dolls  were  supposed 
to  be  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  a 
little  girl's  amusement.  I  liked  dolls  well 
enough,  though  my  assortment  was  not  a 
choice  one.  I  had  three  that  I  remember 
well.  One  was  a  joint  doll — a  wretched 
little  manikin  of  a  thing,,  always  lacking 
an  arm  or  a  leg;  an  old  black  shawl  well 
rolled  up,  with  my  nurse's  apron  tied 
around  it  for  a  dress;  and  my  "best  doll" 
— a  china  head  on  a  cloth  body.  I  think 
that  the  shawl  doll  was  my  favorite,  be 
cause  it  was  more  nearly  the  size  of  a  real 
baby  than  the  others;  but  I  admired  the 
blue  eyes  of  the  "best"  one,  and  especially 
her  china  hair,  painted  black,  parted  in 
the  middle,  drawn  well  down  over  the 
ears,  and  done  up  in  a  painted  knot.  I 
think  that  it  must  have  been  the  grown 
up  effect  of  the  knot  that  impressed  me. 
The  few  toys  that  I  had  were  soon  broken, 


8      Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

and  my  "best  doll"  shared  their  fate  before 
I  had  had  her  long.  I  see  her  now,  with 
the  top  of  her  china  head  scalped  as  by 
a  tomahawk,  and  the  sawdust  oozing  from 
her  cloth  sides. 

My  birthplace  was  in  a  Long  Island 
town  not  many  miles  from  K"ew  York. 
"The  Hall"  had  been  built  and  occupied 
as  a  boys'  school,  but  my  father  converted 
it  into  a  "female  seminary."  It  was  a 
two  story  building  in  Gothic  style,  and 
as  pretty  as  any  American  house  I  know. 
It  inclosed  a  court  in  which  there  was  a 
beautiful  lawn  with  a  fountain  playing  in 
the  center,  over  which  hung  two  enor 
mous  weeping-willows,  looking  at  their  re 
flections  in  its  clear  waters.  Cloisters  ran 
around  the  four  sides  of  the  court,  which 
was  entered  from  the  front  through  an 
arch,  while  at  the  rear  a  square  opening 
led  into  a  garden  behind  the  house.  There 
were  towers  at  two  of  the  corners,  and  to 
the  left  of  the  entrance  a  chapel  with  a 
high,  pointed  roof,  and  an  altar  with  an 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.      9 

organ-loft,  in  which  there  was  no  organ. 
Several  acres  of  lawn,  with  big  trees  and 
shady  walks,  surrounded  the  house.  I  re 
member  a  hemlock,  not  far  from  the 
chapel-door,  which  was  grown  from  a  slip 
cut  from  a  tree  that  overshadowed  Napo 
leon's  grave  at  St.  Helena.  This  was  al 
ways  an  object  of  special  interest  to  visit 
ors,  and  many  were  the  twigs  they  carried 
away  in  their  hands.  There  were  two 
summer-houses  at  one  end  of  what  we 
called  the  park;  and  deep  in  among  the 
trees,  a  mysterious  one-story  building  with 
the  door  nailed  up,  and  narrow  slits  of 
windows  from  which  the  sashes  had  been 
broken.  AVc  children  always  spoke  of  this 
as  the  "haunted  room,''  and  only  the  bold 
est  of  us  ever  penetrated  its  mysteries.  I 
may  say,  without  boasting,  that  I  was  one 
of  these.  It  took  courage,  I  admit,  and  it 
was  considered  rather  mean  to  "dare"  any 
one  to  enter  its  gloom.  The  only  entrance 
was  by  way  of  one  of  the  narrow  windows, 
and  it  was  a  tight  squeeze  for  even  the 


10    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

smallest  of  us.  My  heart  beat  like  a  trip 
hammer  as  I  blinked  to  get  accustomed  to 
the  darkness,  and  listened  with  frightened 
ears  to  the  scampering  of  the  rats  that 
my  coming  disturbed.  There  was  nothing 
in  this  room  by  way  of  furniture  except 
an  old  piano,  broken-legged  and  covered 
with  cobwebs.  To  strike  the  keys  of  this 
piano,  while  the  children  on  the  outside 
listened  with  beating  hearts,  established 
one's  claim  to  courage  in  its  highest 
form. 

On  these  outer  grounds  were  the  ruins 
of  a  brick  building  called,  from  its  shape, 
the  rotunda.  Only  a  semi-circle  of  brick 
remained.  This  stood  two  stories  high, 
and  was  embellished  on  the  inside  with 
iron  galleries.  To  climb  to  these  galleries 
and  jump  off  took  some  courage,  but  not 
so  much  as  to  strike  the  keys  of  the  old 
piano.  Not  far  from  the  rotunda  was  a 
sand-pit,  where  we  dug  catacombs  and 
built  castles  such  as  were  never  seen  in. 
or  out  of,  Spain. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     Ir 

It  will  he  seen  by  this  that  we  were  not 
so  badly  oft'  for  outdoor  amusements  as  we 
might  have  been. 

We  were  a  large  family — three  girls, 
very  near  of  an  age,  and  an  assorted  lot 
of  boys.  I  was  the  eldest  of  the  girls; 
Marty  was  the  next,  and  Miney  was 
the  youngest.  Then  we  had  some 
girl  cousins  with  us.  They  were  nearer 
my  age,  but  they  were  so  much,  more  what 
girls  should  he  than  1  was,  that  we  had 
little  in  common.  They  never  broke  their 
toys;  they  never  climbed  trees;  and  they 
always  looked  neat  and  clean.  1  regret  to 
say  that  1  never  looked  either,  though  I 
had  my  daily  bath  and  a  generous  allow 
ance  of  clothes.  I  was  the  despair  of  my 
mother  and  my  nurse;  but,  though  I  gave 
them  no  end  of  trouble,  my  madcap  ways 
seemed  rather  to  endear  me  to  them.  1 
was  also  a  great  favorite  with  my  father, 
who,  when  my  relations  predicted  a  ter 
rible  future  for  me,  used  to  say,  "Don't 
worry  about  that  child;  she'll  come  out  all 


12    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy, 

right."  They  only  shrugged  their  shoul 
ders  and  smiled  at  the  fatuity  of  parents. 
I  was  naturally  of  an  adventurous  dis 
position,  and  made  a  small  attempt  to  run 
away  from  home  when  I  was  only  four 
years  old.  I  did  not  get  far  away,  but  it 
was  far  enough  to  make  me  tremble  at 
my  temerity  before  I  had  gone  many 
blocks  from  the  garden-gate.  We  were 
never  allowed  to  play  in  the  streets,  hav 
ing  ample  grounds  of  our  own  to  play  in; 
but,  being  direct  descendants  of  Adam 
and  Eve,  we  had  much  of  their  inquiring 
turn  of  mind.  The  day  I  chose  for  my 
adventure  was  Sunday  and  the  hour  an 
early  one,  when  my  nurse  was  at  church. 
My  own  hat  and  coat  had  been  laid  away, 
probably  to  be  out  of  my  reach,  but  I  was 
of  too  determined  a  disposition  to  be  de 
terred  by  so  trifling  an  obstacle  as  that. 
The  hat  and  coat  of  an  elder  brother  were 
near  at  hand,  and  I  was  not  many  minutes 
in  getting  myself  into  them.  The  hat 
came  rather  too  far  down  on  my  head,  and 


STOPPING    AT    A    PUMP    THAT    kTool)    TMKKK 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     T5 

I  had  to  hold  the  coat  off  the  ground  by 
tying  a  woolen  scarf  around  my  waist  and 
making  a  sort  of  pouch  of  the  front  of  the 
coat.  Thus  arrayed,  T  slipped  quietly  out 
by  the  back-gate,  stopping  at  a  pump  that 
stood  there  to  drink  from  the  tin  dipper — 
a  tiling  my  nurse  had  never  permitted  me 
to  do.  That,  of  course,  was  why  J  did  it. 

A  few  steps  and  F  was  at  the  corner  of 
the  street,  a  few  more  and  I  had  lost  my 
bearings;  ljut,  undaunted,  I  pressed  on. 
One  or  two  children  laughed  at  my  strange 
garb  as  I  passed  by,  and  I  am  afraid  that  I 
told  them  to  "shut  up/'  A  coachman  who 
knew  my  nurse  looked  at  me  curiously. 
but  did  not  recognize  me.  The  sight  of 
him  gave  me  courage,  for  I  knew  that  if  L 
were  attacked  by  wolves  or  giants,  he 
would  help  me.  I  kept  close  behind  him. 
After  going  a  short  distance,  he  turned 
into  a  big  brick  church  on  the  corner. 

To  my  delight  I  remembered  that  that 
was  my  nurse's  church;  she  had  pointed 
it  out  to  me  one  dav,  when  we  were  walk- 


16    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

ing  by.  I  would  go  in,  too,  and  surprise 
her!  In  this  I  succeeded  better  than  I 
had  anticipated.  I  saw  the  coachman  stop 
at  the  door,  dip  his  fingers  into  a  brass 
font,  cross  himself,  bend  his  knee,  and 
enter  the  big  door  that  led  into  the 
church.  I  tried  to  dip  my  fingers  into 
the  font, but  could  not  reach  it.  I  bent  my 
knee,  however,  and  followed  him  through 
the  door.  lie  disappeared  at  once,  going 
into  the  first  pew.  Then  I  seemed  to  be 
alone  in  the  vast  building.  The  deep 
tones  of  the  organ  filled  me  with  awe;  my 
heart  rose  in  my  throat,  and  I  came  very 
near  crying.  Instead  of  giving  away  to 
any  such  weakness,  I  toddled  up  the  aisle, 
calling  out  in  my  most  penetrating  voice: 
"I  want  my  Annie,  I  want  my  Annie!" 
"My  Annie"  also  wanted  me,  and  she 
got  me.  Before  I  knew  what  had  hap 
pened,  she  leaned  far  out  of  a  pew,  and 
grasping  me  by  the  scarf  around  my  waist 
lifted  me  well  over  the  door  and  tucked 
me  under  the  seat. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     17 

"Slay  then.',  you  naughty  girl!" 
1  sa\v  tin-  Hush  of  shame  spread  over 
her  cheeks.  but  I  failed  to  rind  the  twinkle 
that  1  always  looked  for  in  her  blue  Irish 
eyes.  1  knew,  then,  that  1  had  over 
stepped  the  hounds,  and  I  prayed  that  the 
service  would  he  a  long  one;  for  it  was, 
rather  cozy  quarters  under  the  seat,  and  I. 
solaced  myself  with  a  twig  of  sassafras 
that  one  of  Annie's  friends  in  the  pew 
passed  down  to  me.  I  tried  to  bribe 
Annie  with  some  of  it,  but  she  only  shook 
her  head  and  looked  stern. 

At  last  the  service  was  over,  and  grasp 
ing  me  by  the  arm,  Annie  hurried  me  out 
of  church.  I  would  fain  have  loitered  by 
the  way,  for  I  recognized  some  of  the  ser 
vants  from  our  house,  and  I  wanted  them 
to  l<m>\v  what  a  big  thing  I  had  done. 
l>ut  Annie  did  not  regard  my  escapade  in 
that  light.  She  felt  disgraced  that  I 
should  have  appeared  before  her  friends 
in  such  a  garb.  The  fact  that  the  coach 
man,  who  now  recognized  me,  chaffed  her 


18    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

a  bit  did  not  tend  to  restore  her  peace  of 
mind.  I  was  hustled  over  the  ground  in 
very  short  order.  Xo  sooner  had  we 
turned  into  our  street  than  I  saw  my 
mother  approaching.  All  the  fright  that 
she  had  suffered  in  not  finding  me  at 
home  vanished  as  I  appeared,  clinging  to 
my  nurse's  skirts.  She  took  in  the  situa 
tion  at  a  glance — and  so  did  I!  Deeming 
valor  the  better  part  of  discretion,  I  ad 
vanced  boldly. 

"I've  brought  you  some  saxafrax,"  said 
I,  holding  out  the  gnawed  twig;  but  1113' 
mother  pushed  it  aside. 

"You  naughty  girl,  to  run  away  and 
frighten  your  mother  so!  I  don't  want 
your  sassafras." 

"I  was  that  ashamed,  mum,  she  in  such 
clothes,  with  all  the  nice  things  she's  got!" 
said  Annie. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  my  mother,  tak 
ing  my  hand.  I  held  back,  and  Annie 
spread  her  skirts  about  me — a  way  she 
had  when  she  had  reason  to  think  that  I 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     *9 

\vas  to  get  my  deserts.  "Come,"  said  my 
mother,  drawing  rny  to  her.  I  looked  in 
Tier  face  to  see  what  my  chances  were,  and 
decided  that  I  had  Letter  go.  She  led  me 
to  her  room  and  closed  the  door! 


II. 

One  might  suppose  that,  after  what  had 
happened  behind  that  closed  door,  my  ar 
dor  for  running  away  would  have  been 
dampened.  It  was  only  whetted.  I  had 
seen  something  of  the  outside  world,  and 
I  wanted  to  see  more.  I  came  very  near 
seeing  more  than  I  had  bargained  for 
somewhere  in  my  sixth  year.  This  time 
I  was  sitting  on  the  top  rail  of  the  front 
fence,  when  a  party  of  gypsies  went  by  on 
their  way  to  a  camp  some  distance  up  the 
road.  A  girl  sitting  astride  of  the  top 
rail  of  a  high  fence  was  enough  of  a 
novelty  to  attract  their  attention.  They 
stopped,  looked  approvingly  at  my  black 
eyes  and  the  ringlets  hanging  down  my 
back,  and  spoke  to  each  other  in  low 
voices;  then,  so  plainly  that  I  could  hear, 
but  still  to  themselves,  they  said: 

'•What  a. pretty  little  girl!  ITow  well 
she  would  ride  one  of  our  ponies!'' 

30 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     2I 

J  had  never  been  called  pretty  before, 
so  I  was  flattered;  and  then  the  pony!  I 
slid  gently  over  the  top  of  the  fence  to 
t  he  ground. 

"Have  you  got  a  pony?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  the  older  woman;  "would 
you  like  to  ride  it?'' 

Would  ]?  I  said  "yes;"  with  enthu 
siasm. 

"Then  if  you  will  come  with  us,  you 
may  have  a  pony  of  your  own  to  ride 
every  day." 

She  pul  out  her  hand,  and  I  took  it 
with  confidence  and  started  up  the  street 
in  the  direction  of  the  encampment.  I 
was  so  afraid  that  someone  would  come 
and  take  me  away  before  J  got  that  pony 
that  I  almost  dragged  the  tmisv  along. 

C?  ~  ™  i     J        .  O 

Someone  did  come,  and  quickly.  It  was 
my  little  sister  Marty,  who  had  a  whole 
some  dread  of  gypsies.  She  had  seen  me 
going  away  with  them,  and  she  came 
shrieking  after  me. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  panted. 


22    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"She's  a  nice  little  girl,  and  she's  going 
with  us/'  said  the  old  woman. 

''Let  go  of  my  sister!"  screamed  Marty, 
and  with  that  she  flew  at  the  old  gypsy, 
and  bit  and  scratched  her  till  the  woman 
was  glad  to  loosen  her  hold.  The  street 
was  too  public  a  one  for  an  out-and-out 
kidnaping  case,  and  the  gypsies  did  not 
want  to  attract  the  attention  of  passers-by. 
So  I  was  released,  but  not  till  the  old  hag's 
hands  and  face  were  dripping  with  blood 
from  my  sister's  sharp  nails.  T  apologized 
to  the  gypsies  for  the  onslaiight;  for  I  was 
really  quite  mortified  that  my  good  friends 
should  be  treated  so  badly;  but  they  went 
off  muttering  threats  of  vengeance,  which, 
I  am  happy  to  say,  were  never  carried  out. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  Marly,  I  might 
to-day  be  traveling  around  the  country  in 
a  van,  telling  the  fortunes  of  the  credu 
lous,  instead  of  playing  off  this  story  on  a 
typewriter  as  a  warning  to  all  children 
with  wayward  tendencies. 

While  Marty's  nails  did  me  a  good  turn 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     23 

this  time,  there  were  times  that  she  used 
them  with  too  much  freedom  and  effect. 
For  some  childish  reason  there  was  a  hitter 
feud  between  my  sister  and  our  cousin 
Susie.  Susie  was  a  well-behaved  child, 
who  took  care  of  her  clothes  and  played 
quiet  games.  She  could  sew  like  a  woman, 
and  her  patchwork  quilts  were  master 
pieces  of  their  kind.  Neither  mine  nor 
Marty's  were  well  made.  The  patches 
were  not  even,  and  the  colors  did  not 
harmonize.  We  both  felt  Susie's  superi 
ority,  but  I  rather  admired  it  than  other 
wise.  Marty  seemed  to  regard  it  in  the 
light  of  a  reproach,  and  whenever  she  met 
Susie  in  the  halls  or  on  the  stairs  there 
was  sure  to  be  a  light.  Susie  was  never 
the  aggressor,  but  she  stood  by  her  guns 
and  defended  herself  in  the  face  of  many 
disadvantages,  the  principal  one  being 
Marty's  nails.  Xow,  Susie  was  a  victim 
of  the  dreadful  habit  of  nail-biting,  and 
the  ends  of  her  fingers  were  as  good  as 
useless  when  it  came  to  a  hand-to-hand 


24    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

encounter.  Marty  not  only  did  not  bite 
her  nails,  but  she  let  them  grow  to  an  un 
seemly  length  and  trimmed  them  to  a 
point. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  archway  that 
served  as  an  entrance  to  our  house  and 
court.  Over  this  arch  was  a  large  bed 
room.  The  approach  to  the  room  over 
the  arch  was  up  a  flight  of  ten  or  twelve 
steps;  then  came  a  landing-place  and  as 
many  more  steps  leading  down.  This 
landing  was  Susie's  Waterloo.  Marty 
would  hear  her  coming  on  the  other  side 
of  the  landing,  for  she  was  of  a  happy 
disposition  and  sang  as  she  came.  This 
was  my  little  sister's  cue.  She  would 
crouch  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  on  her  side 
of  the  hall  and  crawl  quietly  up,  and  just 
as  Susie  reached  the  top,  pounce  upon 
her,  digging  her  sharp  nails  into  the 
round,  red  cheeks  of  her  surprised  cousin. 
There  would  be  a  scream  and  the  sound 
of  a  scuffle.  Then  Susie's  mother  would 
appear  from  her  side  of  the  steps,  and  my 


LT771K    ("MKS.    SI.N'CLAIR      ). 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     27 

mother  would  appear  from  our  side,  and 
the  belligerents  would  be  carried  off  in 
disgrace  and  put  to  bed. 

Of  Susie's  elder  sister,  Liz/ie,  who  was 
about  my  age,  we  were  somewhat  in  awe. 
She  was  very  old  for  her  years,  and  she 
spoke  of  us  as  "the  children."  We  used 
the  two  summer-houses  already  spoken  of 
as  playhouses.  On  the  outside  of  the  one 
used  by  my  sisters  and  myself  I  had  nailed 
a  sign — 

DAVID   .MORTOX, 
COAL  AM)  WOOD. 

On  the  other  summer-house  was  pinned 
a  card,  with 

MRS.  SINCLAIR 

written  on  it.  I  called  myself  "David 
Morton''  after  a  relative-in-law,  of  whom 
I  was  fond,  and  I  sold  (for  pins)  coal  and 
wood  to  '"'Mrs.  Sinclair,"  my  cousin  Lizzie, 
who  would  not  answer  us  unless  we  ad- 


28    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

dressed  her  by  that  melodramatic  name. 
Now,  while  I  liked  the  idea  of  keeping  a 
coal-yard,  I  was  not  a  particularly  practi 
cal  child;  not  as  practical  as  my  cousin 
Susie,  for  instance,  who,  going  one  day  to 
the  grocers  to  get  her  sister  some  starch, 
found  three  cents  on  the  sidewalk.  I 
happened  to  be  with  her  at  the  time  and 
immediately  saw  visions  of  three  sticks  of 
molasses  candy.  Xot  so  the  thrifty  Susie. 
What  do  you  suppose  she  did  with  that 
new-found  wealth?  She  added  it  to  her 
sister's  money  and  got  a  pound  and  three 
cents'  worth  of  starch!  And  my  mouth 
fixed  for  candy!  But  then  she  came  of  a 
practical  family  on  her  mother's  side. 
When  her  grandfather  was  dying,  he 
turned  to  his  wife  and  said: 

".My  dear,  1  am  hardly  likely  to  live 
through  the  night.  When  I  am  dead 
there  will,  of  course,  be  a  great  many  of 
our  relations  and  friends  here;  so  I  think 
it  would  be  well  for  you  to  lay  in  a  stock 
of  food,  for  you  know  that  people  come 
hungry  to  funerals." 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     29 

aYes."  said  his  wife;  '"'I  know,  and  I 
have  provided." 

Grandfather  Hoi-ton  looked  at  her  with 
a  gratified  smile  on  his  drawn  lips. 
"Thank  yon,  my  dear,"  he  said;  "yon 
always  were  thoughtful."'  And  he  turned 
his  face  to  the  wall.  That  night  he  died, 
nnd  the  funeral-baked  meats  were  served 
to  his  sorrowing  relatives  on  the  morrow. 

My  cousins  inherited  many  of  the  prac 
tical  characteristics  of  their  grandparents. 
They  kept  their  toys  in  perfect  condi 
tion.  Some  of  their  dolls  were  heirlooms, 
and  yet  they  looked  as  good  as  new.  They 
realized — my  cousins,  I  mean — that  their 
mission  in  life  was  to  build  up  rather  than 
to  destroy;  while  only  destruction  fol 
lowed  in  my  wake.  I  was  rather  a  good- 
natured  child,  but  report  has  it  that  my 
temper  was  of  the  sort  supposed  to  go 
with  red  hair,  ^ly  hair  was  not  red — it 
v.as  auburn;  hut  there  was  enough  of  the 
willful  tint  in  it  to  affect  my  temper.  I 
realized  this,  possibly,  because  I  was  so 
ol'len  reminded  of  it. 


3°    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

One  afternoon  I  was  drinking  at  the 
street-pump  with  Susie,  who  had  on  her 
best  white  pinafore,  when  a  ragged,  dirty 
little  girl  from  a  neighboring  tenament- 
house  descended  upon  us  and  wiped  her 
black  and  grimy  hands  upon  Susie's  im 
maculate  pinafore.  Susie  burst  into  tears 
at  the  indignity;  while  I,  when  I  had 
recovered  from  my  surprise,  flew  at  the 
offending  ragamuffin,  and  beat  her  witli 
my  fists  until  she  fled,  screaming,  from  tho 
fray.  I  was  about  to  give  chase,  but  at 
this  moment  "Mary  Cap-border,"  our 
other  nurse,  appeared  upon  the  scene,  and, 
calling  me  the  worst  child  she  ever  saw, 
filliped  my  ears  with  her  he-thimbled  fin 
ger  until  they  ached  with  pain. 

We  children  did  not  like  this  nurse  at 
all.  She  was  called  Mary  Cap-border  to 
distinguish  her  from  another  Mary,  who 
truly  served,  for  she  helped  wait  at  a  table 
of  forty  covers.  The  nurse  Mary  was  an 
old  Irish  woman,  who  always  wore  a  white 
cap  with  a  deep  border,  hence  the  name 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     31 

she  was  known  by.  Annie  was  the  head- 
nurse,  though  she  was  the  younger  woman 
by  many  years.  Mary  acted  as  her  shep 
herd's  dog  and  rounded  us  children  up 
when  we  were  lost,  which  was  not  infre 
quently.  It  was  no  difficult  matter  to  get 
lost,  or  to  hide  from  the  sight  of  our 
nurses,  in  that  old  house  or  about  the 
grounds.  I  remember  once  stealing 
Miney,  my  youngest  sister,  out  of 
the  nursery  when  she  was  little  more 
than  a  baby.  Annie,  the  nurse,  was 
in  her  room  darning  stockings,  and 
Mary  Cap-border  had  stepped  into  her 
closet  to  tell  her  beads,  for  she  was  quite 
old  and  had  much  to  tell  them,  when  L 
slipped  in  and  kidnaped  Miney.  I  had 
not  gone  far  when  1  heard  Mary's  pious 
footsteps  on  our  trail.  Dragging  Miney 
along  so  that  her  toes  barely  touched  the 
ground,  I  bounded  into  a  convenient  tool- 
house  and  bolted  the  door,  (ireat  was 
my  triumph,  but  not  for  long. 

"Ila!  ha!"  1  laughed;  "you  can't  catch 
us  now!" 


32     Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

How  little  I  appreciated  the  ingenuity 
of  that  old  woman!  The  tool-house  had 
a  window,  and  that  window  stood  wide 
open.  In  a  moment  the  flapping  cap-hor- 
der  of  Mary  appeared  in  it. 

"Ha!  ha!  is  it,  indade?"  said  she,  thrust 
ing  her  hand  with  a  switch  in  it  through 
the  opening.  Alas  and  alack!  That  tool- 
house  was  small,  airl  her  arm,  augmented 
hy  the  switch,  reached  to  its  furthermost 
corners. 

One.  two!    one  two!    and  through  and  through 
The  vorpal  sword  went  snicker-snack. 

In  vain  I  fled  to  the  other  side,  or 
crouched  flat  upon  the  floor.  T  could  not 
escape  the  sharp  cuttings  of  that  switch. 
They  rained  upon  my  head  and  shoulders 
until  T  was  fain  to  cry,  "Hold,  enough!" 
and  open  the  door. 

"I'll  teach  ye  to  stale  that  child  from 
under  me  nose,  and  me  saying  me 
prayers,"  and  she  made  another  cut  at 
me  with  the  switch.  I  was  in  the  open 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     33 

now.  No  pent-up  tool-house  confined  my 
powers.  I  dodged  the  switch,  and,  run 
ning  to  a  safe  distance,  told  that  old  wo 
man  what  I  thought  of  her  in  language 
that  made  her  cap-border  tremble  with 
righteous  indignation.  1  am  not  bound 
to  repeat  here  what  I  said. 


III. 

As  I  have  intimated,  my  father  was 
inclined  to  indulge  me,  and  I  was  allowed 
the  privileges  of  his  study;  to  me  even 
then,  as  it  would  he  now,  the  most  at 
tractive  room  in  the  house.  Bookshelves 
ran  from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling,  with 
husts  of  the  great  poets  in  imitation 
bronze  resting  in  niches  on  their  tops. 
One  window  opened  out  upon  the  front 
lawn,  and  there  was  a  door  with  a  vine- 
covered  porch  to  the  right  of  it.  Opening 
out  upon  the  park  was  a  deep  how-win 
dow,  hung  with  turkey-red  curtains  and 
a  window-seat  with  cushions  covered  with 
the  same  material.  There  was  a  tall  red 
desk  near  this  window,  at  which  my 
father  used  to  stand  to  write  when  he  got 
tired  of  sitting.  In  the  middle  of  the 
room  was  a  table  littered  with  papers, 
books,  pipes  and  tobacco.  A  chess-board 
34 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     35 

with  black  and  yellow  "men"  carved  from 
wood  was  a.  conspicuous  feature  of  this 
table,  about  which,  in  the  evenings,  the 
clergymen  and  professors  of  the  village 
gathered  to  smoke  their  pipes  and  plav 
their  favorite  game.  Sometimes  T  was 
allowed  to  sit  on  the  table — it  was  large 
and  I  was  small — and  watch  them. 

I  remember  once  a  particularly  exciting 
game  was  being  played,  and  one  of  the 
players,  a  clergyman,  I  believe,  after  a 
hard  fight,  won  the  victory.  Fxelama- 
tioiis  of  pleased  surprise  broke  from  the 
company.  Xot  to  be  outdone  in  interest, 
1  raised  mv  childish  voice  and  exclaimed: 
"( i'ood  I'm-  you.  Fitch!" 

There  was  a  shout  of  laughter  at  this 
spontaneous  outburst.  1  regret  to  say 
that  there  was  nothing  spontaneous  about 
it.  It  was  entirely  premeditated.  I  had 
been  waiting  mv  opportunity,  for  1  knew 

<.ll  .    ^ 

just  how  it  would  be  received:  but  no  one 
suspected  my  duplicity.  "Not  even 
''Fitch,"  for  thirty  years  later  1  met  him, 
and  he  reminded  me  of  my  spontaneity. 


36     Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

To  the  pupils  at  the  school  the  study 
was  rather  a  dreadful  place.  They  never 
entered  it  except  upon  the  most  formal 
occasions.  To  be  called  to  the  study  filled 
the  stoutest  heart  with  alarm.  My  father's, 
like  every  other  young  ladies'  school  near 
a  village,  was  very  much  disturbed  by  the 
attentions  of  the  village  young  men. 
Some  of  the  pupils  rather  enjoyed  these 
attentions;  others,  the  majority,  resented 
them.  Respectable  young  men,  known 
to  my  father,  were  allowed  to  visit  the 
school  at  stated  times;  but  there  were  cer 
tain  yonng  men  in  the  village  who  were 
never  allowed  within  its  gates.  These 
took  their  revenge  by  annoying  my  father 
in  many  ways.  They  would  come  around 
in  the  evening  and  pass  notes  over  the 
fence,  or  even  climb  that  barrier  and 
walk  with  the  girls  in  the  shrubbery.  My 
father  set  to  work  to  find  out  which  of 
the  girls  were  disgracing  themselves  by 
accepting  these  clandestine  attentions, 
and  was  surprised  to  hear  the  name  of 


SOBBKJ)    Vl'OX    JITS 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     39 

Carrie  Parker,  whom  he  had  always  con 
sidered  a  mode]  of  propriety,  among  the 
guilty  ones.  Jle  sent  for  her  to  eome  to 
the  study,  and  there  told  her  what  he 
had  heard.  She  turned  pale  and  trem 
bled;  then,  bursting  into  tears,  threw  her 
arms  about  my  father's  neck  and  sobbed 
n pon  his  shoulder. 

"O,  Mr.  (Jilbert!  how  can  you  suspect 
me:'"  she  cried. 

The  situation  was  embarrassing,  and 
my  father  tried  hard  to  disengage  her 
arms  from  his  neck.  .It  was  useless.  She 
only  clung  the  tighter.  Footsteps  were 
heard  approaching  the  study.  If  they 
were  only  my  mother's  it  would  he  all 
right,  for  she  knew  her  husband  thor 
oughly  and  she  had  a  keen  sense  of  hu 
mor.  Some  one  knocked.  Should  he  say 
"Come  in,"  and  risk  the  consequences,  or 
should  he  say  nothing  and  let  the  person, 
whoever  it  might  be,  think  that  he  was 
out?  But  suppose  that  he — or  worse,  she 
— should  be  of  an  inquiring  turn  of 


4°     Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

and  open  the  door!  "Come  in,"  he  said 
boldly,  and  in  walked  Miss  Ilartsford, 
the  head-teacher.  She  paused  for  a  mo 
ment;  and  then,  recognizing  the  young 
lady  still  sobbing  on  my  father's  shoul 
der,  said: 

"I  came  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Gilbert,  that 
Carrie  Parker  was  wrongly  suspected;  she 
is  perfectly  innocent." 

"With  a  wild  sob  of  joy,  the  girl  re 
leased  my  father  from  her  embrace,  and 
threw  herself  upon  the  teacher. 

"I  couldn't  have  stood  it  another  min 
ute;"  she  cried. 

My  father  was  about  to  say  that  he 
couldn't  either,  but  he  straightened  his 
rumpled  collar  and  hastened  up  to  my 
mother's  room  to  tell  her  the  story. 

"Carrie  Parker  is  a  fool,"  said  my 
mother,  and  not  without  provocation; 
"fortunately,  Miss  Ilartsford  is  not.  Sup 
pose  that  it  had  been  one  of  those  gos 
siping  men  teachers,  or,"  trying  to  look 
severe,  "what  if  I  had  opened  the 
door?" 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     41 

"I  should  have  been  sorry  for  Carrie 
Parker,"  said  my  father  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye. 

At  another  time  my  father  was  in 
formed  that  there  was  a  young  man  in  the 
drawing-room  who  wanted  to  see  one  of 
the  pupils.  He  sent  for  the  girl,  and 
asked  her  if  she  knew  the  young  man  and 
if  she  wanted  to  see  him. 

"I  know  him  slightly,''  she  answered, 
"hut  I  don't  want  to  see  him,  and  I  am 
very  much  annoyed  that  he  should  call 
here.'' 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  my  father.  "T 
will  tell  him,  and  ask  him  not  to  call 
again." 

The  girl  went  to  her  room  and,  no 
doubt,  told  the  other  girls,  for  very  soon 
a  dozen  or  more  appeared  in  a  far  corner 
of  the  court  where  they  could  command 
the  front  door. 

My  father  went  to  the  drawing-room 
and  told  the  young  man  that  he  could 
not  see  Miss  -  -  on  that  or  any  other 


42     Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

day.  Being  a  persistent  youth,  he  was  in 
clined  to  argue  the  point,  and  hesitated  so 
long  about  going  that  my  father  was 
obliged  to  assist  his  exit.  This  he  didj, 
and  closing  the  door  quickly  turned  the 
key  in  the  lock.  Xo  sooner  had  he  done 
this  than  he  heard  a  gentle  knocking  at 
the  door.  He  paid  no  attention. 

"Eat-tat-tat-tat!" 

"That  young  man  is  impertinent," 
thought  my  father,  and  turned  to  walk 
away. 

"Rat-tat-tat-tat!"  much  louder  than  at, 
first. 

My  father  lost  all  patience  by  this  time, 
and  returning  to  the  door  opened  it 
quickly,  whereon  the  young  man,  who 
had  been  caught  by  his  coat-tails,  and  was 
pulling  hard  to  get  loose,  pitched  head 
foremost  on  the  path.  Suppressed  titters 
came  from  the  corner  of  the  court  where 
the  girls  were  grouped.  The  young  man 
picked  himself  up  quickly  and  with 
flushed  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes  hurried 
to  the  gate. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     45 

On  certain  Saturday  afternoons  the 
young  men  from  the  boarding-school  up 
the  street  were  invited  to  The  Hall.  They 
formed  an  archery  company  and  wore 
green  uniforms.  After  showing  their 
skill  with  the  how  and  arrow  they  were 
allowed  to  talk  and  walk  with  the  girls 
who  served  them  with  lemonade  and  cake. 
Those  were  rare  afternoons,  and  there  was 
much  hlushing  and  much  giggling.  I 
was  not  arrived  at  the  dignity  of  young 
ladyhood,  hut  I  was  treated  to  the  refresh 
ments  and  made  myself  generally  officious 
hy  putting  the  archers'  green  caps  on  the 
heads  of  the  girls,  for  which,  they,  the 
girls,  boxed  my  ears,  and  the  boys  gave  me 
more  cake  and  lemonade. 

At  other  times,  the  Tompkins  T>lues,  a 
crack  militia  company  from  Xew  York, 
came  up  and  drilled  in  the  courtyard. 
They  brought  theirband  with  them, which 
played  the  popular  music  of  the  day — 
''When  the  Springtime  (Vines,  fientle 
Annie,"  "Willie,  We  Have  Missed  You/' 


46    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

and  other  innocuous  tunes.  There  was  a 
great  and  glorious  drum-major  with  this 
band.  iSTever  did  drum-major  wear  so 
big  a  "bear-skin"  or  toss  his  staff  so  high 
into  the  air.  It  was  wonderful  to  see  him. 
I  believe  he  could  have  written  his  name 
with  the  twirling  of  his  baton,  if  lie  had 
tried.  And  then  his  mustaches — only 
military  men  wore  mustaches  in  those 
days — he  could  have  tied  his  at  the  back 
of  his  head  had  he  wished  to  do  anything 
so  foolish. 

On  the  first  day  of  the  militia  men's 
visit  the  girls  prepared  a  gorgeous  bou 
quet  which  one  of  them,  acting  as  spokes 
man,  was  to  present  to  the  captain.  Alas! 
overwhelmed  by  his  gorgeousness  she  pre 
sented  it  to  the  drum-major,  who  accepted 
it  as  his  due,  while  the  modest  captain 
was  passed  by.  The  embarrassment  of 
the  girls  when  they  discovered  their  mis 
take  was  painful  indeed,  and  hastily  gath 
ering  another  bouquet,  they  chased  the 
retiring  company  across  the  lawn,  and 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     ^ 

pressed  it  into  the  captain's  hand.  Ho 
saw  the  joke  and  enjoyed  it,  hut  the  drum- 
major  took  his  accidental  honors  in  all 
seriousness.  The  only  thing  that  dis 
turbed  his  serenity  that  day  was  when  I 
seized  his  staff  of  office  and  rode  a-cock- 
horse  witli  it  around  the  courtyard.  It 
was  a  great  occasion  altogether,  its  inter 
est  heing  only  heightened  hy  Tommy 
Ilirch,  tiie  clergyman's  son,  falling  into 
the  fountain  and  spoiling  his  hest  suit  of 
clothes.  How  well  I  recall  the  scene:  The 
courtyard  full  of  pretty  girls,  the  gay  uni 
forms  of  the  soldiers,  the  screams  of  the 
frightened  Tommy,  and  then  the  strains 
of  the  hand  a>  it  played  "Wait  for  the 
Wagon"  on  its  way  to  the  train  that  the 
amiable  conductor  had  held  twenty  min 
utes  for  their  tardy  coining. 


IV. 

"MOTHER,  MOTHER  —  come,  quick! 
Nell's  fallen  down  the  tower  stairs,  and 
says  she's  killed!" 

My  mother,  used  as  she  was  to  such 
alarms,  rose  to  her  feet,  pale  and  trem 
bling. 

"  'Twould  he  God's  mercy  if  'twere 
true!"  exclaimed  a  much-harassed  aunt, 
from  the  foot  of  the  breakfast-table.  My 
mother  shot  an  indignant  glance  from  her 
black  eyes,  as  she  hastily  followed  my  sis 
ter  from  the  room,  and  she  did  not  speak 
to  that  aunt  for  many  months. 

Marty  and  I  were  up  in  the  "Salon," 
as  we  called  the  big  room  where  the  Sat 
urday  evening  "reunions"'  were  held,  and  I 
suggested  a  race  to  the  stairs.  Xo  sooner 
said  than  done,  and  off  we  started.  These 
stairs,  for  some  strange  reason,  were 
covered  with  zinc  instead  of  with  carpet, 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     49 

and  this  zinc  was  worn  in  many  places. 
We  ran  furiously,  as  children  do,  and  I 
tripped  and  fell,  cutting  my  upper  lip  on 
the  ragged  metal.  The  blow  almost 
stunned  me,  and  hlood  gushed  from  the 
wound.  Xo  wonder  T  thought  my  end 
had  come!  I  was  picked  np  and  carried  to 
my  room,  and  the  doctor  was  sent  for. 

Dear  old  Dr.  Rloodgood!  I  see  him 
still,  will)  his  sandy  hair  and  pink  skin 
and  the  merry  twinkle  in  his  hlne  eyes, 
lie  was  used  to  my  accidents;  hut  this  was 
the  worst  that  had  yet  befallen  me.  There 
1  lay,  covered  with  blood,  and  with  two 
upper  lips  instead  of  one;  for  the  ugly 
v.\\\c  had  made  a  neat  job  of  it  and  cut 
right,  down  the  middle  and  all  the  way 
through.  The  doctor  was  obliged  to  sew 
up  the  wound,  and  it  was  many  days  be 
fore  1  was  presentable.  At  one  stage  in 
the  healing  the  lip  was  swollen  out  beyond 
my  nose,  and  was  black  and  blue  and  alto 
gether  terrible  to  look  at;  that  is  to  say, 
terrible  to  every  one  but  me.  I  would 


5°    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

look  at  myself  in  the  glass,  whenever  I  got 
a  chance,  and  was  rather  proud  of 
my  extraordinary  appearance.  I  en 
joyed  nothing  better  than  escaping  from 
my  nursery  and  going  into  the  dormitories 
to  show  myself  to  the  girls.  When  they 
ran  shrieking  away  from  the  horrible 
sight,  I  always  gave  chase.  The  more 
they  shrieked  the  more  I  enjoyed  it. 

Hardly  had  I, recovered  from  the  acci 
dent  of  the  zinc  than  another  tragedy  be 
fell  me.  It  was  my  lot  to  sleep  in  a 
"trundle-bed"  -  a  relic  of  barbarism 
which,  I  hope,  no  longer  exists.  A 
"trundle-bed,"  as  you  may  not  know,  is  a 
low  bed,  lying  close  to  the  floor,  which  is 
slipped  under  an  ordinary  bed  during  the 
day,  and  pulled  out  at  night.  I  was  the 
sole  occupant  of  the  "trundle-bed,"  and 
rejoiced  in  my  isolation  until  the  night  of 
the  tragedy. 

I  had  gone  to  bed  and  was  sleeping 
peacefully,  when,  some  time  after  mid 
night,  I  felt  something  stinging  me,  as  I 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     51 

supposed.  I  screamed,  but  Annie  in  tbe 
big  bed  slept  on.  The  stinging  continued, 
and  my  screams  became  louder.  Horror 
seized  me  now,  and  I  gave  one  piercing 
shriek,  which  aroused  my  mother  in  the 
next  room.  She  appeared  at  the  door  with 
a  candle  in  her  hand,  to  see  me  sitting  up 
in  bed  covered  with  blood,  and  three  huge 
rats  running  across  the  floor.  My  face, 
hands,  and  cars  were  terribly  bitten,  and 
I  was  frightened  beyond  words.  Again 
the  doctor  was  sent  for,  and  again  my 
wounds  were  dressed.  As  I  recovered 
from  the  fright  of  that  awful  night,  I 
enjoyed  the  distinction  that  came  of  it. 
I  was  petted  and  made  much  of  as  the 
story  grew.  And  it  did  grow.  The  three 
rats  were  increased  to  fifty,  the  size  of 
large  cats;  and  my  wounds,  bad  enough  as 
they  were,  were  greatly  exaggerated.  To 
this  day,  1  have  the,  greatest  horror  of  rats 
— a  horror  that  extends  to  mice;  and  who 
can  blame  me?  As  for  "trundle-beds,"  I 
would  make  kindling  wood  of  every  one 
extant. 


52     Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

One  of  the  most  painful  accidents  from 
which  I  suffered  was  caused  by  my  own 
foolishness.  Any  child  should  know  that 
a  hot  stove  is  a  thing  to  be  avoided,  but  I 
did  not  seem  to  realize  the  fact.  I  was 
undressed  and  was  frisking  about  my 
mother's  room  in  my  night  gown,  when 
it  occurred  to  me  to  warm  myself  at  the 
fire.  The  stove  was  of  the  species  known 
as  "air-tight,"  in  which  wood  is  burned 
and  which  makes  a  hotter  fire  while  it 
lasts  than  any  other  stove  ever  invented. 
It  was  at  its  hottest  when  I  was  cavorting 
around  it,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  1 
fell  full  length  upon  it.  I  didn't  stay 
long,  but  it  was  quite  long  enough  to 
leave  on  my  tender  skin  the  impression  of 
a  lady  holding  a  sheaf  of  wheat  that  orna 
mented  its  side. 

My  mother  was  going  to  a  party  across 
the  street,  and  was  giving  the  last  touches 
to  her  toilet  before  the  mirror  when  my 
shriek  and  the  smell  of  burning  flesh 
brought  her  to  my  side.  There  was  no 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     53 

party  for  her  that  night.  Tlio  silk  dress 
came  of]'  and  the  wrapper  was  donned, 
while  plasters  of  molasses  and  flour  were 
applied  to  the  lady  and  the  sheaf  of  wheat 
with  which  1  was  decorated.  1  was  laid 
up,  or  rather  down,  for  a  long  time,  and 
required  so  much  attention  at  night  as 
well  as  hy  day  that  my  mother  was  rohhed 
of  her  sleep,  and  was  apt  to  doze  off  in  the 
evening  under  the  very  nose  of  callers. 

There  was  one  lady  in  particular  whose 
conversation,  at  the  best  of  times,  made 
my  mother  sleepy;  and  at  this  time  she 
could  not  resist  its  soporific  influence. 
One  evening,  while  this  good  woman  was 
prosing  along  about  her  husband  and  chil 
dren,  my  mother's  head  dropped  and  she 
was  lost  in  dreams. 

"I  think  that  we  will  educate  John  for 
the  church.  .Don't  you  think  he  will 
make  a  lovely  clergyman?"  said  the  vis 
itor. 

"lie  ought  to  be  a  printer,"  said  my 
mother,  possibly  thinking  of  the  leanings 
of  her  own  children. 


54    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"A  printer!"  exclaimed  the  indignant 
woman. 

The  exclamation  of  surprise  aroused  my 
mother  with  a  start.  There  was  no  ex 
planation  possible.  She  couldn't  say  that 
she  had  been  asleep;  so  she  had  to  stand 
by  her  guns,  to  the  undisguised  disgust 
and  annoyance  of  her  visitor,  who  never 
quite  forgave  her  estimation  of  John's 
talents. 

When  I  was  able  to  get  my  clothes  on 
again,  I  resumed  my  wild  ways,  to  every 
one's  surprise,  it  having  been  supposed 
that  I  would  be  sweetened  by  adversity. 
On  the  contrary,  I  had  been  shelved  for 
PO  long  that  I  was  eager  for  the  fray.  The 
first  thing  I  did  was  to  take  my  cousin's 
saddle-horse  out  of  the  stable,  and  ride 
him  bareback  through  the  village  street. 
I  sat  with  my  face  towards  his  tail;  and, 
when  asked  why  I  adopted  this  singular 
fashion,  I  replied  that  if  he  ran  away  with 
me,  it  would  be  easier  to  slip  off  than  if  I 
had  to  turn  around. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     55 

When  T  couldn't  get  a  horse  to  ride,  I 
rode  a  cow;  not  a  bad  substitute,  either, 
for  the  unusual  use  to  which  she  was  put 
set  her  off  at  a  smart  gallop,  which  I  en 
joyed  to  the  full,  if  she  did  not. 

One  of  my  favorite  "stunts"  was  jump 
ing  from  the  stable-window  into  the  yard 
below.  I  had  done  this  so  often  that  if 
bad  ceased  to  be  a  novelty.  One  day,  to 
vary  the  amusement,  I  called  out  to  the 
other  children: 

"See  me!  I'm  going  to  jump  with  my 
arms  folded."  Then,  assuming  the  atti 
tude  supposed  to  have  been  habitual  with 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,  I  jumped.  Oh,  the 
agony!  My  folded  arms  Hew  up  as  I 
struck  the  ground,  and  dealt  me  such  a 
blow  under  the  chin  that  I  wonder  my 
head  was  not  knocked  oil'.  I  almost 
wished  that  it  had  been,  for  then  it  would 
not  have  ached  as  it  did  from  that  cruel 
concussion.  I  need  scarcely  say  that  I 
was  "'stumpmaster"  for  that  day. 


V. 

As  a  general  thing  I  was  a  favorite  with 
the  cooks  who  ruled  in  our  kitchen,  and 
they  would  allow  me  privileges  that  they 
denied  my  cousins.  I  might  almost  write 
a  book  on  "Cooks  Who  Have  Helped  Me," 
for  I  learned  so  much  from  them  of  the 
art  of  shelling  peas,  stoning  raisins,  and 
baking  cake  in  egg-shells.  There  was  one 
cook,  however,  with  whom  I  did  not  get 
along.  Her  name  was  Bridget  Ryan,  I 
believe — it  usually  was.  She  was  a  hot- 
tempered,  heavily-built  Irishwoman,  with 
damp  red  hair  and  a  nose  that  looked  as 
if  it  had  been  broken  in  a  tight.  She  said 
that  she  had  inherited  it  from  her  father, 
and  I  dare  say  she  had — in  a  way.  When 
she  came  to  engage  herself  to  my  mother,, 
she  was  all  sweetness  and  light.  I  hap 
pened  to  be  in  the  room  and  she  promised 
me  no  end  of  goodies,  she  was  so  fond  of 
55 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     ? 


children,  she  said.  She  \vns  a  good  cook, 
one  of  the  best  \ve  ever  had;  but  it'  she  was 
fond  of  children,  she  had  a  sure  way  of 
hiding  her  affections.  Our  kitchen  was 
very  large,  even  for  a  large  house.  It  had 
a  big  range  with  copious  ovens  in  one  cor 
ner,  and  the  stone  hearth  was  at  least 
twelve  feet  square  and  raised  about  six 
inches  from  the  main  floor.  On  Saturday 
.Bridge!  baked  her  pies  for  Sunday's  din 
ner,  and  as  she  took  them  from  the  oven 
she  set  them  on  the  hearth  to  cool  before 
she  put  them  in  the  pantrv.  On  one  par 
ticular  Saturday,  there  were  some  twenty 
custard-pies  in  battle  array  on  the  hearth 
when  I  peered  in  at  the  kitchen-door. 

Bridget  was  not  in  sight,  but  a  big  bowl 
filled  with  cake-batter  was.  l>y  its  side 
was  a  pile  of  egg-shells.  The  batter,  the 
egg-shells,  the  oven-door  wide  open,  and 
the  cook  nowhere  to  be  seen!  What  an 
opportunity!  I  flew  to  embrace  it.  Tip 
toeing  into  the  deserted  room  in  a  trice,  I 
had  filled  half  a  dozen  of  the  empty  shells 


58     Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

with  the  rich  yellow  batter;  then  tip-toe 
ing  across  to  the  hearth,  I  carefully 
picked  my  way  between  the  pies,  and  was 
just  laying  the  last  shell  inside  the  oven, 
when  Bridget  appeared  upon  the  scene. 

"Get  out  of  this,  you  young  limb  of  the 
owld  hi!"  she  screamed,  and,  seizing  a  wet 
dish-cloth  from  the  sink,  aimed  at  my 
head.  I  dodged  it,  but  it  is  not  an  easy 
matter  to  dodge  dish-cloths  on  a  stone 
hearth  covered  with  pies.  My  foot 
slipped,  I  stepped  into  the  nearest  pie,  and 
fell  down  upon  a  dozen  others — while  the 
rest  of  the  twenty  slid  before  me  out  upon 
the  kitchen  floor.  Bridget,  armed  with  a 
poker,  was  on  the  war-path;  but,  spring 
ing  to  my  feet,  I  made  a  dash  for  my 
mother's  room,  leaving  a  trail  of  custard 
behind  me.  Bridget,  still  pursuing,  ran 
into  the  near-sighted  professor  of  German 
at  a  turn  in  the  hall,  but  was  off  again 
before  he  had  recovered  his  spectacles. 
This  slight  interruption  was  to  my  ad 
vantage,  and  I  was  in  my  mother's  room 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     6l 

\vith  the  door  locked  before  the  infuriated 
woman  caught  up  with  me.  She  didn't 
quite  like  to  hurst  the  door  open,  though 
she  might  easily  have  done  so  with  her 
powerful  fists;  so  she  retreated  to  the 
kitchen  to  make  more  pies,  and  tell  the 
other  servants  what  an  outrageous  child  I 
was.  I  don't  wonder  that  she  was  indig 
nant.  It  was  hard  on  her,  hut  then  she 
should  not  have  flung  the  dish-cloth  at 
me.  It  was  too  sudden  an  onslaught  upon 
a  child  standing  on  the  brink  of  twenty 
pies — all  custard. 

My  strained  relations  with  the  cook 
made  it  advisahle  for  me  to  avoid  the 
kitchen  in  my  daily  prowlings  ahout  the 
house.  Notwithstanding  her  severity  to 
ward  me,  and  the  iron  hand  with  which 
she  ruled  the  servants,  she  was  fond  of  a 
good  time,  and  F  used  to  hear  from  the 
waitresses  and  chambermaids  of  Saturday- 
night  festivities  in  the  kitchen  which 
sounded  much  more  attractive  to  me  than 
the  "reunions"  of  my  own  people  in  the 


62     Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

xalon.  My  curiosity  concerning  these 
kitchen  revelries  at  last  became  irresist- 
ihle.  I  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  one 
Saturday  night  I  determined  to  play  the 
role  of  Peeping  Tom,  and  see  for  myself 
what  happened  on  these  festive  occasions. 
\Ve  children  were  put  to  bed  earlier  than 
usual  that  night;  but  I  lay  low  and  said 
nothing  till  about  half-past  nine,  when, 
finding  my  sisters  asleep  and  the  nurse's 
bed  empty,  I  got  up  stealthily  and,  don 
ning  my  flannel  wrapper,  started  off  bare 
footed  down  the  long  halls.  Everything 
was  quiet  in  the  dormitories,  for  teachers 
and  pupils  were  in  the  salon,  so  I  got 
through  to  the  dining-room  without  de 
tection.  There  was  a  large  butlers  pantry 
between  the  dining-room  and  the  kitchen, 
and  oil  this  a  smaller  pantry  or  store 
room,  in  which  groceries  and  other  provi 
sions  were  kept.  There  were  shelves  all 
around  the  walls,  and  a  high,  small  win 
dow  looking  into  the  kitchen.  My  aim 
was  to  reach  this  window.  As  I  ap- 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     63 

proached  the  kite-lien  I  could  hear  my 
heart  heat  with  excitement,  for  there  was 
a  sound  of  revelry  hy  night — music  and 
the  patter  and  scraping  of  feet  on  the 
sanded  floor.  Kagerly  T  opened  the  store 
room  door,  and,  standing  on  the  edge  of 
a  barrel  of  eggs,  mounted  noiselessly  to 
the  top  shelf  and  peered  through  the  win 
dow.  What  to  my  wondering  eyes  should 
appear  but  the  floor  cleared  for  dancing, 
the  big  table  pushed  back,  and  standing 
on  it  our  inan-of-all-Avork,  sawing  out  an 
Irish  jig  on  his  fiddle,  with  nil  the  flour 
ishes  of  a  Paganini.  In  the  center  of  the 
floor,  with  her  petticoats  tucked  up  and 
her  arms  akimbo,  was  the  cook,  and  "fer- 
iienst."  her,  as  she  would  have  put  it,  was 
"Paddy"  (Jrogan,  who  kept  a  corner  gro 
cery  in  a  back  street.  He  had  on  an  old 
high  hat,  and  with  a  stick  under  his  arm 
was  doing  a  jig  as  only  one  to  the  manner 
born  can  do  it. 

Jiridget  was  getting  blown,  her  fact1  was 
red  to  the  verge  of  purple,  and   her  hair 


64    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

hanging  in  damp  locks  over  her  shoulders. 
Puffing  and  blowing,  she  threw  herself 
upon  a  chair,  and  another  couple  came  to 
the  front.  I  came  near  rolling  off  the 
shelf  in  my  surprise,  for  who  should  the 
man  be  but  my  big  brother  Sandy,  with 
a  rosy-cheeked  chambermaid  as  his  vis-a 
vis.  He  flung  off  his  coat  and  went  at  that 
jig  as  though  he  had  lived  his  life  at 
Donnybrook.  Every  one  applauded,  and 
I  clapped  my  hands  with  the  rest.  In  my 
enthusiasm  I  shouted,  '"Good  for  you. 
Sandy!''  Then  there  was  a  pause,  while 
every  ear  was  attention. 

Sandy  stood,  pale  and  perspiring,  for 
he  knew  what  would  happen  if  he  were 
caught  dancing  with  the  servants  in  the 
kitchen.  "Who  was  that?''  he  exclaimed, 
looking  eagerly  about  the  room.  Then 
his  eyes  met  mine  looking  down  from  the 
window.  He  made  a  bolt  for  the  door, 
and  so  did  I.  Of  course  the  inevitable  hap 
pened.  I  lost  my  balance  and  came  down 
with  a  scream,  both  feet  crashing  through 
the  barrel  of  eggs. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     65 

When  Sandy  pulled  me  out  I  looked 
like  an  underdone  omelette.  Never  before 
had  I  reali/ed,  as  I  did  then,  the  folly  of 
putting  all  one's  e<r^s  in  the  same  basket. 

1 1  \\as  a  case  of  if  you  tell  on  me  I'll 
tell  on  you,  so  Sandy  and  I  swore  to  keep 
each  other's  secret.  It  was  the  e*r<rs  that 
betravcd  me. 


VI. 

As  Anna  Dickinson  said  of  herself,  "I 
never  was  a  raving  beauty."  I  had,  how 
ever,  very  pretty  hair— auburn,  my  friends 
called  it;  my  enemies  described  it  as  red. 
It  fell  naturally  in  loose  curls,  which 
reached  nearly  to  my  waist.  "\Vhen  I  ran 
— and  I  seldom  walked — it  flew  out  be 
hind  me  like  a  banner.  Whenever  I  sat 
quietly,  which  was  only  on  rare  occasions, 
it  hung  down  the  sides  of  my  face  like  a 
veil.  Xot  having  much  vanity  in  my  com 
position,  I  didn't  like  it,  though  it  was 
almost  the  only  part  of  my  personal  ap 
pearance  that  ever  received  a  compliment. 
I  longed  for  the  freedom  of  short  hair, 
like  a  boy's,  that  wouldn't  catch,  as  Ab 
salom's,  in  the  trees  I  climbed;  but  any 
suggestion  of  barber's  shears  was  received 
with  horror  on  the  part  of  my  family.  On 
the  day  of  a  certain  ''commencement,"  as 
66 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     6~ 

the  dosing  exercises  of  tlic  school-veai" 
were  called,  1  hung  on  behind  the  grocer's 
wagon,  and  rode  into  the  village.  ]\Iy 
mind  was  made  up.  J  intended  to  he 
bothered  with  curls  no  longer;  so,  dashing 
into  a  barber's  shop,  1  climbed  up  on  a 
(•hair. 

"Well,  little  girl,"  said  the  harbor, 
"what  can  J  do  for  your" 

"1  want  my  hair  cut  short  like  a  hoy's," 
said  I,  with  determination.  The  barber 
stared  in  amazement,  and  shook  his  head 
doubt  fully. 

"I'm  afraid  I'll  get  myself  into  trouble 
if  I  cut  them  curls,"  and  he  lifted  them 
admiringly  and  let.  them  drop  gently  from 
his  fingers. 

"You'll  get  yourself  into  trouble  if  von 
don't,"  said  I,  angrily. 

lie  took"  up  the  shears  and  snapped 
them  hesitatingly. 

"I  kinder  hate  ter,"  said  he,  medita 
tively. 

Quick  as  a  flash   I  grabbed  the  shears 


68    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

from  his  hands,  and,  before  he  could  re 
cover  from  his  astonishment,  two  of  the 
biggest  curls  lay  writhing  at  his  feet. 

"There,  now,  you'll  have  to  do  it,"  said 
I,  triumphantly. 

"Well,  of  all  the  wild  colts  I  ever  seen, 
you  take  the  cake,"  exclaimed  the  man, 
taking  the  shears  from  my  hand.  "Here 
goes,  then,"  and  snip-snap,  snip-snap  sang 
the  sharp  steel  about  my  head. 

"Shorter!"  I  commanded,  looking  in 
the  glass;  "give  me  a  shingle  cut."  lie 
sighed  and  did  as  he  was  bid.  I  have  said 
that  I  was  without  vanity,  but  when  I 
saw  myself  with  "shingled"  hair,  I  was 
pleased  with  my  looks.  The  barber  was 
not. 

"You're  a  holy  show,  if  there  ever  was 
one,"  said  he,  with  a  look  of  disgust,  "and 
I  guess  you'll  catch  it  when  yer  mar  sees 
yer.  I  know  people  who'd  give  a  pile  of 
good  money  fer  them  curls,"  looking 
sadly  at  the  tangled  ringlets  lying  at  his 
feet. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     /' 

"They  can  have  them  for  nothing,"  I 
retorted,  regarding  the  pile  contemptu 
ously,  and  paying  the  unhappy  barber  ten 
cents  for  his  work,  I  marched  proudly  out 
of  the  shop.  On  my  way  home  I  made 
excuses  to  take  my  hat  off,  so  that  people 
could  see  and  admire.  They  saw,  but  I 
could  not  detect  a  note  of  admiration  in 
their  glance.  Some  of  those  who  knew 
me  made  pertinent  remark?, 

"Hello!  Tomboy,"  said  one.  I  didn't 
mind  thai. 

"When  did  you  get  out  of  jail?"  asked 
another,  which  rather  hurt  me.  While 
"Hub,"  he  of  the  "verlosophy,"  greeted 
me  with  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"Well,  you  do  look  like  a  monkey!'7 

"Monkey,  monkey,  barrel  of  beer, 
How  many  monkeys  have  we  here  ?" 

shouted  a  chorus  of  vulgar  little  boys. 

My  blood  was  up.  1  stopped  short  in 
front  of  them  and  counted: 

"One  —  two  —  three  —  just  I  It  in-  moil- 


72     Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

keys,"  said  I,  sarcastically,  and  passed 
on  down  the  street  before  they  had  time- 
to  recover  from  their  surprise. 

As  I  approached  my  home,  I  began  to 
feel  a  little  less  confident.  I  wished  that 
it  was  not  quite  so  near.  My  courage  was 
beginning  to  ooze  out,  and  I  decided  to 
postpone  the  meeting  with  my  parents. 
To  that  end  I  climbed  over  the  back-fence 
and  hugged  the  shrubbery  till  I  got 
around  to  my  play  bouse.  I  went  in  and 
hung  up  my  hat,  and  looking  at  myself  in 
a  bit  of  broken  looking-glass  tacked  to  the 
wall,  was  just  beginning  to  take  heart 
again,  when  my  cousin  Will,,  an  awful 
tease,  appeared  at  the  door.  His  eyes 
nearly  popped  out  of  his  head. 

"Great  Scott!''  he  exclaimed. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Who  cut  your  hair?" 

"The  barber." 

"Who  told  him  to?" 

"I  did." 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  he  in  your  shoes 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     73 

when  your  mother  sees  you.  You're  a 
perfect  fright.  Your  hair  was  the  only 
decent  thing  about  you;  and  now,  you've 
gone  and  cut  it  all  oil'!  But  you'll  catch 
it,  though!  My  eye — but  I  wouldn't  like 
to  be  in  your  shoes!''' 

The  nearest  weapon  was  a  pail  of  coal. 
(You  may  remember  that  1  kept  a  coal 
and  wood  yard.)  1  seized  it  quickly  and 
hurled  it  at  him. 

"Take  that,  you  hateful  thing!"  lie 
dodged  it,  and  ran  laughing  up  the  path. 
I  was  feeling  far  from  happy  by  this  time, 
and  if  1  eould  ha\e  restored  my  shorn 
locks  then  and  there,  I  would  have  done 
so;  but  alas!  as  I  stood  with  burning 
checks,  and  Hashing  eyes,  Annie,  who  had 
been  scouring  the  neighborhood  for  me 
for  the  past  hour,  appeared  upon  the 
scene.  The  sense  of  relief  which  she  felt 
upon  finding  me  was  drowned  in  her  hor 
ror  at  my  appearance.  She  was  proud  of 
mv  curls,  for  she  had  tended  them  with 
loving  care  since  the  davs  when  thev  were 


74     Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

only  little  ringlets  clinging  to  my  head. 
At  first  she  could  not  believe  her  eyes; 
but,  when  she  realized  what  I  had  done, 
she  burst  into  tears. 

"Oh,  what  have  you  done — oh  dear,  oh 
dear!"  she  sobbed. 

"What's  the  matter,  Annie?"  said  T, 
putting  on  a  bold  front.  "What's  the  use 
of  crying  about  a  lot  of  old  hair?  You 
know  I  look  a  great  deal  nicer." 

"Oh,  no  you  don't!  You  look  horrid! 
You  ain't  my  little  girl  any  more.  You're 
an  ugly  little  boy.  What  will  your  poor 
mother  say!"  and,  taking  me  firmly  by  the 
arm,  she  marched  me  off  to  my  mother's 
room.  I  could  have  broken  away,  but  it 
would  only  have  put  off  the  evil  moment 
for  a  short  time;  so  I  decided  to  have  it 
over  without  more  ado. 

As  we  approached  my  mother's  room, 
Annie's  sobs  began  again.  This  brought 
my  mother  in  terror  to  the  door.  She 
knew  that  when  Annie  wept  something 
was  wrong  with  me  or  one  of  my  sisters; 
usually  with  me. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     "5 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  exclaimed. 

I  was  hiding1  hohind  Annie. 

"0  Mrs.  (iilbert!  Miss  Nell—  "  and 
her  sohs  prevented  her  finishing  the  sen 
tence.  Of  course,  my  mother  imagined 
that  something  more  than  usually  awful 
had  happened. 

"\Yherc  is  Miss  Xcll?"  she  asked,  ex 
citedly. 

"Here  I  am,  mother,"  and  I  came  bold- 
ly  into  view.  Xever  shall  I  forget  the  ex 
pression  of  my  mother's  face  when  she 
saw  my  head. 

"I've  had  my  hair  cut,"  I  continued 
gayly. 

"O  Nell!  how  could  you?"  she  pleaded, 
scarcely  ahlo  to  keep  hack  her  tears.  I 
was  beginning  to  realize  that,  like  Sam 
son,  I  didn't  amount  to  much  when  shorn 
of  my  locks. 

Luckily  for  me,  my  father  was  too  busy 
getting  ready  for  the  "commencement" 
to  give  any  thought  to  my  whereabouts. 
F  was  put  ignominiously  to  bed;  but, 


76     Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

when  the  time  for  the  evening's  perform 
ances  drew  near,  my  mother  relented  and 
said  that  I  might  go  into  the  chapel,  but 
that  I  must  sit  away  Lack  in  a  dark  cor 
ner,  where  no  one  could  see  me.  I  agreed 
to  this  and  regretted  that  the  corner  was 
so  remote  and  dark  that  there  was  no 
chance  of  being  seen.  I  soon  found  an 
opportunity  for  showing  myself;  for  1  felt 
sure  that,  no  matter  what  people  might 
say,  in  their  hearts  they  could  not  but  ad 
mire  my  "l?iley  cut." 

At  either  end  of  the  platform  on  which 
the  graduating  class  was  to  sit  was  a 
door;  and  these  two  doors,  I  discovered, 
were  standing  open,  no  doubt  for  some 
good  reason.  I  did  not  stop  to  think  of 
that — I  only  saw  a  chance  to  show  myself; 
so  I  slipped  out  of  my  scat,  ran  up  the 
chapel  aisle,  and  walked  boldly  across  the 
platform  and  closed  the  doors.  Xearly 
every  one  in  the  audience  knew  me,  and 
a  despairing  groan  went  up  to  the  top  of 
that  chapel's  Gothic  roof,  and  a  buzz  of 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

indignant  com  incut  passed  over  the  audi 
torium.  I  marched  boldly  down  the  aisle 
to  in v  dark  corner  again:  bul  I  was  greeted 
on  all  sides  witli  unpleasant  comment. 
One  old  gentleman  who  had  particularly 
admired  my  curls  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands  as  I  passed,  that  lie  might  not 
see  me,  though  I  distinctly  saw  him  peep 
ing  ihrough  his  fingers,  while  a  lady  in  the 
audience  made  believe  that  she  was  going 
to  faint  at  the  sight  of  me. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  programme 
was  opened  by  my  brother  Haydn  at  the 
piano.  lie  plaved  ^Mason's  ''Silver 
Spring,"  which  was  then  a  new  com 
position;  and  when  about  in  the  middle  of 
the  most  limpid  passages,  a  katydid  Hew 
in  from  the  garden  outside  and  landed 
upon  his  head.  With  a  wild  scream  In- 
bounded  from  the  piano-stool  and  dashed 
oil'  the  platform.  Kverybodv  roared  with 
laughter,  and  he  returned  amid  great  ap 
plause,  when  the  "Silver  Spring"  flowed 
on  as  though  nothing  had  happened  to 
interrupt  its  melodious  course. 


7s    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

This  evening  was  made  memorable  by 
the  first  and  only  appearance  of  my  cousin 
Emeline  on  the  stage.  Emeline  had  a 
mezzo-soprano  voice  of  rare  quality,  but 
she  was  timidity  itself.  By  dint  of  great 
coaxing  she  had  been  prevailed  upon  to 
sing  on  this  occasion.  After  giving  her 
word,  she  was  determined  to  do  it  though 
she  should  die  from  stage-fright.  Pale 
and  trembling,  she  stood  before  the  foot 
lights  with  eyes  cast  down,  too  frightened 
io  acknowledge  the  applause  that  greeted 
her  appearance.  Then  she  raised  her 
voice  to  the  music  of  a  song  very  popular 
in  those  days,  called  "Bird  of  Beauty." 
The  color  returned  to  her  cheeks  as  she 
sang;  I  quote  from  memory: 

"Bird  of  beauty,  whose  bright  plumage 

Sparkles  with  a  thousand  dyes, 
Soft  thy  notes  and  gay  thy  carol, 
Though  stern  winter  rules  the  skies." 

Voice  and  music  were  perfectly  suited, 
and  the  effect  upon  the  audience,  when 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     79 

she  finished  the  soup,  was  electrical.  Tears 
and  cheers  were  mingled.  I  have  seldom 
heard  a  more  sympathetic  voice,  and  the 
fright  she  was  in  only  emphasized  this 
(jiiality.  The  wild  applause  called  for  an 
curare,  hnt  Kmelino  only  hurried  from  the 
sta<:e  to  throw  herself  sohl»in<r  info  her 
father's  arms.  Xothin<r  could  induce  her 
to  <ro  through  the  ordeal  a»'ain.  She  had 
kept  her  word,  and  then  collapsed. 

After  the  exercises,  almost  the  entire 
audience  crowded  into  the  waiting-room 
hchiiid  the  sla^e  to  congratulate  the 
si  Hirer.  She  had  made  a  genuine  sensa 
tion,  and  every  one  helieved  that  she 
would  have  a  <rrcat  career  on  the  operatic 
sta<re:  hut  that  was  the  he<rinnin<j;  and  the 
<nd.  I  have  often  wondered  why  so  heau- 
til'ul  a  voice  was  iriven  to  a  person  who  did 
not  care  for  it,  and  upon  whom  it  was 
ahsolntelv  thrown  away.  Had  she  chosen, 
it  would  have  hrou<_rht  her  fame  and  for 
tune. 

Yon  niav  he  sure  that  T  was  ainon<j  the 


80    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

congratulating  crowd.  And  yet,  though 
I  enjoyed  the  excitement,  I  was  almost 
sorry  to  be  there;  for  every  one  who  came 
near  me  rubbed  my  hair  the  wrong  way, 
adding  insult  to  injury  by  making  remarks 
upon  my  appearance — which,  to  say  the 
least,  were  not  flattering,  though  probably 
true. 

Exciting  as  was  my  cousin  Emeline's 
debut,  it  was  as  nothing,  so  far  as  my  feel 
ings  went,  compared  to  the  first  appear 
ance  of  my  brother  Dixey  on  the  stage.  A 
recitation  by  him  was  sandwiched  in  some 
where  between  the  "compositions"  and  the 
music.  He  looked  very  smart  in  his  black 
velvet  suit,  with  a  big  white  collar  and  a 
Scotch  plaid  sash  tied  across  his  breast. 
He  was  a  little  nervous,  but  he  came  man 
fully  to  the  front  of  the  platform  and 
made  his  bow  to  the  applauding  audience. 
Then  he  raised  his  childish  voice,  and  re 
cited  with  inappropriate  gesture  these 
familiar  lines: 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     8l 

"Oh,  ever  thus  from  childhood's  hour, 
I've  seen  my  fondest  hopes  decay  ; 
I  never  loved  a  tree  or  flower 

But  'twas  the  first  to  fade  away. 
I  never  nursed — 

Then  he  paused  and  looked  appealingly 
around,  and  l>euan  a^ain  with  a  trembling 
voice: 

"I  never  nursed 1  never  nursed -" 


VII. 

SOME  of  the  happiest  days  of  my  life 
were  spent  with  my  aunt  in  the  village  of 
Birdlington,  New  Jersey.  Xext  to  my 
parents,  I  was  more  fond  of  my  Aunt  Maria 
than  of  any  one  in  the  world.  She  was 
my  mother's  only  sister,  a  maiden  lady, 
and  lived  alone  with  an  old  colored  ser 
vant,  who  had  heen  a  slave  in  the  family 
in  the  days  when  slavery  flourished  in  Xew 
Jersey.  Aunt  Maria  had  many  of  the 
traits  that  are  popularly  supposed  to  he 
peculiar  to  maiden  ladies.  She  was  very 
methodical  and  very  conservative.  She 
did  not  like  to  have  the  even  tenor  of  her 
life  disturbed,  and  I  regret  to  say  that  I 
frequently  disturbed  it.  She  was  a  devout 
Episcopalian,  and  the  Thirty-nine  Articles 
were  her  law  and  gospel.  She  shared  the 
front  corner  square  pew  of  the  village 
church  with  a  younger  maiden  lady,  and, 
82 


SAT    OX    A     F(>(>T-STOOI.,    (JFTTF    OCT    OF    STCIFT    OP    TTFK 
COX<!RK(iATTOX. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     S5 

dii  the  occasions  v,l'  my  visits  to  Birdling- 
ton,  I  wont  to  churcli  with  hor  every  Sun 
day  morning,  and  sat  on  a  footstool  quite 
out  of  sight  of  the  congregation,  and  only 
whon  the  clergyman  mounted  his  pulpit 
could  he  see  me.  Aunt  Maria  gave  me  this 
seat  because  of  its  seclusion,  and  for  its 
seclusion  I  loved  it.  I  could  usually  keep 
awake  during  the  service,  hut  the  sermon 
invariably  lulled  me  to  sleep.  I  tried, 
however,  to  keep  awake  by  reading  a  tablet 
inserted  in  the  wall  near  tin1  pulpit: 


SACRED 

To  TIM;  MK.MOKY  OK 

Tin;    KKV.   JOHN    I'IKIJCI;    LATH  nor, 

LATI;  KKCTOR  or  Tins  I'AKISII. 


1  read  with  diiliculty,  and  the  first  time 
J  mistook  the  word  "sacred"  and  whis 
pered  up  to  Aunt  Maria: 

''Aunty,  what  does  "xrv/m/  to  the  mem 
ory  of  mean  ?" 


86    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

Though  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
twitched,  she  frowned  and  shook  her  fin 
ger  at  me,  while  I  went  on  wondering  till 
1  fell  asleep  with  my  head  against  her 
knee.  The  misreading  of  simple  words 
was  a  habit  of  mine.  I  remember  once 
looking  up  from  a  Bible  to  ask  with  as 
tonishment: 

"Why  did  the  Lord  ({od  cause  a  dead 
sJiccp  to  fall  upon  Adam?" 

My  father  told  me  to  read  the  passage 
again,  and  after  much  studying  I  found 
that  it  was  a  "dead  sleep"  that  had  fallen 
on  our  first  parent. 

The  rector  of  the  parish  of  Birdlingtou, 
at  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing,  was 
a  young  Englishman  with  a  deep,  rich 
voice,  and  a  most  agreeable  and  priestly 
face,  lie  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  my 
aunt's  house,  and  no  one  enjoyed  her  cozy 
teas  more  than  he  did;  such  dainty  teas 
they  were,  too,  with  the  lightest  biscuits 
and  the  most  savory  "frizzled  beef  and 
"sapsago"  cheese — a  delicacy  1  have  never 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     8? 

seen  outside  of  Birdlington.  You  buy  it 
in  hard  cakes,  and  j^rate  it  fresh  for  each 
mral.  Aunt  .Maria's  tea-set  was  of  dark- 
red  [lottery — I  don't  know  its  teelmieal 
name — with  little  squirrels  sitting  on 
their  hind-le^s  on  the  covers  cf  the  su^ar- 
howl  and  tea-pot,  Only  the  supir-bowl 
of  this  set  is  left  to-day;  the  little  squir 
rel  has  i^one — all  hut  his  feet  and  the  hit 
of  (ail  that  he  squatted  on.  I  came  across 
it  in  the  depths  of  a  cupboard  at  Birdling- 
ton.  a  short  time  a,u'o.  and  il  bronchi  the 
picture  of  that  tea-tahle  so  vividly  hefore 
me  that  I  could  have  kissed  it  in  memorv 
of  t  hose  happy  days. 

IHana  I'iro  was  the  name  of  . \unt 
.Maria's  Military  servitor;  a  name  thai  su^1- 
Lrested  a  (Jrcek  goddess,  hut  there  was 
no  .-litest  ion  of  the  (I  reek  goddess  ahout 
our  hiana.  No  one  seemed  to  know  how 
old  she  was.  She  looked  any  a<_;'e  over  a 
hundred.  Her  face  was  seamed  with 
wrinkles  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
were  decorated  with  sun IV,  which  she'  was 


88     Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

constantly  "dipping."  On  her  head  she 
wore  a  gay  bandanna,  and  on  her  feet,  in 
stead  of  shoes,  equally  gay  bits  of  carpet 
tied  about  with  pieces  of  twine.  She  said 
that  her  feet  were  not  hard  like  white 
folks',  but  tender  as  a  colored  lady's  feet 
should  be,  and  she  couldn't  bear  the 
weight  of  shoes.  She  was  dried  up  and 
stooped  with  the  burden  of  years,  and  her 
fingers  were  bent  like  claws.  Monday 
evenings  she  devoted  to  trimming  her 
nails,  which  were  so  hard  that  they  would 
only  yield  to  the  scissors  after  a  day's 
soaking  in  hot  soap-suds.  Though  Diana 
looked  very  old,  and  no  doubt  was,  she 
looked  exactly  the  same  during  all  the 
years  that  I  knew  her;  and  Aunt  Maria, 
who  had  known  her  all  her  life,  said  that 
she  had  never  looked  any  younger. 

The  kitchen  was  Diana's  realm,  and  she 
ruled  there  with  a  scepter  of  iron.  Every 
one  was  afraid  of  her,  I  among  the  rest. 
At  the  same  time  I  worshipped  her,  for  I 
took  her  at  her  own  valuation.  She  al- 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     <c;9 

lowed  UK'  the  freedom  of  the  kitchen;  but 
I  had  to  behave  myself  while  I  was  there, 
or  else  1  would  be  cbased  out  with  tin; 
nearest  weapon — a  poker,  a  hot  Hat-iron, 
it  made  little  difference  which.  I  was, 
however,  so  proud  to  be  permitted  to  en 
joy  Diana's  society  that  I  usually  behaved 
better  when  1  was  with  her  than  at  anv 
other  time.  She  always  did  the  talking, 
and  it  was  tales  to  her  own  glorification 
that  got  me  into  the  way  of  thinking  that 
she  was  a  princess  in  disguise.  I  admit 
that  the  disguise  was  complete;  hut  il 
Mould  not  ha\e  surprised  me  if  at  anv 
time  ,1  fairy  had  touched  her  with  a  wand 
and  restored  her  to  her  roval  surround 
ings. 

I  remember,  one  day  in  particular,  1 
was  so  thrilled  with  the  tales  she  told 
to  prove  her  superiority  to  common  white 
mortals,  that  I  kissed  the  back  of  her  hand 
as  she  was  peeling  potatoes:  and  then, 
frightened  at  my  temerity,  da-bed  out  of 
the  room.  As  I  iled  1  saw  her  rubbing 


9°    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

the  back  of  the  hand  1  had  profaned,  with 
the  tragic  intensity  of  Lady  Macbeth;  and 
I  am  sure,  if  I  had  stopped  to  listen,  I 
should  have  heard  her  muttering,  "Out 
dam — ned  spot!" 

According  to  Diana's  own  stories,  she 
had  had  many  adventures  by  land  and  by 
sea;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  lived 
a  very  quiet  life,  the  greater  part  of  it  in 
Birdlington.  She  used  to  thrill  me  with 
accounts  of  wild  Western  adventure.  Her 
imaginary  experiences  in  the  West  had 
taught  her  a  life-long  dread  of  "painters," 
so  she  said,  which  dread  she  communi 
cated  to  me. 

"Why  are  you  so  afraid  of  painters,  Di 
ana?"  I  asked,  thinking  only  of  those  who 
are  also  paper-hangers  and  decorators. 

"Because  they're  man-eaters,*'  she  re 
plied,  in  hushed  and  awestruck  voice. 

Even  when  I  learned  that  "painter" 
was  her  way  of  pronouncing  panther,  I 
could  not  shake  oil  the  horror  I  had  of 
those  who  followed  the  gentle  art  of 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     91 

house-painting.  When  I  met  one  with  his 
ladder  and  paint-pots,  I  invariably  crossed 
to  the  other  side  of  the  street,  and  con 
gratulated  myself  upon  my  lucky  escape. 

Diana  was  not  of  a  hospitable  dispo 
sition,  and  she  growled  to  me  every  time 
that  Aunt  ]\Iaria  had  guests  to  a  meal. 
One  day  1  was  lying  on  the  floor  of  the 
drawing-room,  with  my  heels  hanging 
over  the  arm  of  a  chair,  when  the  rector 
came  to  call.  I  was  sure  thai  he  was  going 
to  stay  to  tea,  so  I  thought  that  I  would 
give  him  a  few  words  of  friendly  warning. 

"Do  you  know  what  Diana  says  of  you, 
Mr.  Fowler?"  I  asked. 

"Xo,  Nell,"1  said  he,  standing  with  his 
hack  to  the  open-grate  lire,  and  evidently 
thinking  how  much  pleasanter  it  was  to 
sup  with  "Miss  Maria"  than  to  eat  at  his 
boarding-house.  "What  does  Diana  say 
of  me?"  and  he  looked  as  though  he  ex 
pected  something  complimentary. 

"Well,"  said  I,  kicking  my  heels  against 
the  chair  by  way  of  emphasis,  "she  says. 


S2    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

it  you  come  here  to  meals  much  oftener, 
you'll  eat  Aunt  Maria  out  of  house  and 
home." 

I  had  barely  finished  speaking  when  1 
saw  Aunt  Maria  standing  in  the  doorway. 
Xo  sooner  had  I  observed  the  flush  of 
pain  and  embarrassment  that  covered  the 
rectors  face  than  I  felt  my  aunt's  firm 
grip  upon  my  ankle, — it  was  nearer  her 
than  my  arm, — and  I  was  jerked  into  an 
upright  position.  Without  a  word,  she 
marched  me  upstairs  and  put  me  to  bed. 
There  were  no  hot  biscuits  nor  "frizzled" 
beef  for  me  that  night.  What  explanation 
she  gave  the  rector,  I  do  not  know,  but 
it  was  evidently  satisfactory,  for  he  con 
tinued  his  visits,  even  at  the  risk  of  the 
awful  possibility  that  Diana  had  sug 
gested. 

The  only  street  costume  of  my  own  that 
I  can  remember  was  the  one  I  wore  on 
this  visit  to  Birdlington.  It  consisted  of 
a  red-and-black  plaid  coat,  tight-fitting  as 
to  the  bodice,  and  with  skirts  that  nearly 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     (^3 

touched  the  ground.  Mv  bonnet  was  of 
black  velvet  with  a  white  ruche  around 
the  face,  picked  out  with  tufts  of  narrow 
red  ribbon.  Kvery  one  admired  this  cos 
tume,  but  I  thought  it  altogether  too 
"dressy."  The  long  skirts  were  in  my 
way,  and  the  bonnet  irritated  me.  I  usu 
ally  wore  it  pushed  well  hack  on  my  head, 
so  that  it  rested  on  my  shoulders.  Dressed 
in  niv  besl  clot  lies,  I  used  to  £0  out  calling 
and  shopping  with  my  aunt.  I  much  pre 
ferred  the  latter  errand  to  the  former.  It 
was  very  tiresome,  to  a  child  of  my  tem 
perament.  to  have  to  sil  still  while  people 
talked  about  the  weather,  or  even  about 
Shakespeare  and  the  musical  glasses.  I 
would  he  sure  to  disgrace  myself  before 
the  visit  was  over:  which  was  not  so  much 
because  I  was  vicious  as  because  i  was 


Shopping  I  did  not  mind.  There  was  va 
riety  in  that  and  a  change  of  scene.  Then 
the  shop  keepers  were  kind  to  me.  There 
was  Mrs.  Strickle]-,  who  made  the  most 


94     Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

delicious  pies  and  buns.  "Rusk/"  we 
called  the  latter.  Ah!  how  good  they 
were;  and  she  would  gild  refined  gold  by 
shaking  powdered  sugar  over  their  sticky 
crust  just  before  tying  them  up  in  a  neat 
white  paper  parcel,  always  giving  an  extra 
one  to  inc.  Then  there  was  Mrs.  Archi 
bald,  who,  anxious  to  get  my  aunt's  trade, 
would  give  me  something  eatable  by  way 
of  a  bribe;  "just  to  munch  on  the  way 
home,"  she  said.  Sometimes  it  was  a  stick 
of  candy,  sometimes  a  dried  herring — 
whichever  came  handiest. 

I  had  noticed  that  at  certain  stores 
when  my  aunt  ordered  a  number  of  things 
she  would  say  "charge  it,"  as  she  passed 
out.  The  clerk  always  replied,  "Very 
good.  Miss  Maria,"  and  seemed  pleased  at 
the  opportunity. 

What  was  good  for  one  was  good  for 
another,  I  thought;  so,  slipping  away 
from  the  house  one  day,  I  called  at  the 
principal  store  in  the  village,  and  ordered 
a  bat  and  ball,  a  large  jack-knife  and  a 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     (->5 

''round-comb."  When  1  took  up  the 
things  preparatory  io  leaving  the  store, 
the  clerk  said : 

"\\  here's  your  monev,  little  girl?" 

"Oh."  said  I,  Marling  towards  the  door, 
"charge  it ." 

"('harge  it!"  said  he,  with  surprise. 
"Who  to?" 

"1  don't  care  who  vou  charge  it  to," 
said  I,  with  a  shrug  of  indifference;  ''to 
the  saiiH1  person  vou  chai'ge  other  people's 
thi ligs,  I  sil ppose. 

"Well,  that's  a  good  one!"  replied  the 
hoy  with  a  grin.  "You  jest  lay  them 
things  hack.  We  don't  chai'ge  goods  to 
the  town-pnmp.  You  pavs  voiir  money 
or  vi  .i!  don't  get  the  pi  under." 

"You'll  he  sorrv  for  this,"  i  said,  with 
indignation.  "1  have  just  as  much  right 
to  say  'charge  it'  as  any  one  has." 

"if  vou  lake  'em  I'll  charge  Vm  to  your 
Aunt  M  urrier,  and  I'll  bet  she'll  he  mad." 

I  marched  indignant  Iv  awav  with  my 
purchases,  and  told  Aunt  Maria  how  badly 


96    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

I  had  been  treated.  Then  and  there  she 
explained  to  me  the  mysteries  of  "charge 
it." 

I  had  a  playroom  in  Aunt  Maria's 
house.  It  was  a  corner  of  the  garret,  and 
there  on  rainy  days  I  amused  myself  with 
a  few  odds  and  ends  of  toys.  They  seemed 
to  me  very  fine,  hut  as  toys  go  nowadays 
they  did  not  amount  to  much.  There  was 
a  little  bureau  and  a  broken  cooking-stove 
and  a  one-legged  doll,  and  one  or  two 
odd  bits  of  tea-sets,  not  to  mention  a 
tiny  wash-tub  and  wash-board.  These 
latter  were  my  greatest  treasures,  because 
I  could  really  use  them.  In  the  letters 
home  that  Aunt  Maria  wrote  at  my  dicta 
tion,  I  descanted  enthusiastically  on  the 
attractions  of  the  garret;  so  much  so  that, 
when  my  sister  Marty  came  to  see  me 
once,  she  forgot  everything  else  in 
glorious  anticipation.  When  E  opened 
the  front  door  to  admit  her,  she  threw 
her  arms  around  my  neck,  and  with  her 
eyes  on  the  staircase  shouted: 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.     97 

"The  garret!  the  garret — you  dove,  you 
dove!"  and  oil'  to  the  garret  we  flew  as 
doves  should,  without  more  ado. 

From  the  garret  to  the  basement  was 
the  next  move,  for  J  wanted  to  introduce 
my  sister  to  Diana.  The  latter's  greeting 
was  not  encouraging: 

"More  eomp'ny,  eh?  Fm  getting  tired 
of  the  sight  of  comp'ny.  Anybody  might 
think  Miss  Mari'  was  a  bankrup'  the  way 
she  lias  comp'ny!" 

What  Diana  meant  was  a  hanker — a 
man.  according  to  her  idea,  who  dealt  in 
money  as  one  might  deal  in  groceries; 
who,  when  he  wanted  a  few  hundred  dol 
lars,  ladled  them  out  as  the  grocer  ladled 
(»ut  sugar  or  tea. 

Diana  rather  objected  to  my  sister's 
presence  in  the  house,  not  because  of  any 
extra  work  that  it  might  entail,  but  be 
cause  she  thought  two  children  were  more 
mischievous  than  one,  and  in  our  garret 
frolics  might  overstep  the  bounds  and  get 
into  her  room.  Diana's  mum,  in  a  far 


98    Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

corner  of  the  garret,  was  a  holy  of  holies. 
There  she  kept  her  precious  ''hair  trunk/' 
the  contents  of  which  no  mortal  eye  hut 
her  own  was  ever  permitted  to  see.  I  had 
the  wildest  ideas  ahout  that  trunk,  and 
imagined  it  filled  with  gold  or  jewels;  or, 
perhaps,  the  princess's  crown,  which  I  be 
lieved  by  rights  Diana  should  be  wearing, 
was  hidden  within  its  hairy  sides!  I 
should  not  have  dared  to  enter  the  room 
where  it  stood,  much  less  to — 

"tilt  the  lid 
To  peep  at  what  was  in  it," 

though  I  was  of  quite  as  inquiring  a  turn 
of  mind  as  "Meddlesome  Matty."  Of 
that  trunk,  more  anon. 


VIII. 

Tm-:  first  tragedy  that  I  remember 
occurred  soon  after  my  return  from 
Birdlington.  Of  my  many  cousins 
tliere  was  one  that  1  particularly  liked. 
Tfe  was  a  lad  of  sixteen  or  seventeen  at 
this  time.  "John  Henry"  we  always 
(•ailed  him.  because  tliere  were  two  other 
Johns  in  the  family.  He  was  a  gentle, 
studious  boy,  with  curly  brown  hair  and 
large,  brown  eves.  lie  never  teased  us 
girls,  as  his  brother  Will  did.  but  gave  us 
occasional  pennies,  which  we  immediately 
converted  into  sticks  of  molasses  candy. 
He  would  help  us  mend  our  toys  when 
Ihev  \\ere  broken,  and  sharpen  our  lead- 
pencils  foi1  us;  indeed,  lie  seemed  to  take 
pleasure  ill  helping  others.  His  parents 
adored  him.  because  he  was  so  good  and 
so  studious.  Thev  were  sure  lie  would 
make  his  mark  in  the  world,  and  I  believe 
that  he  would  have  done  so  had  he  lived. 
99 


100  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

One  day  his  brother  Will  was  trying  to 
fly  a  kite  from  the  flat  roof  over  the  salon, 
when,  seeing  that  he  could  make  no  head 
way,  John  Henry  said,  "Let  me  try,  Will; 
1  think  I  can  get  it  up  for  you." 

So  Will  handed  him  the  string  and  held 
the  kite,  while  his  brother  walked  hack- 
ward  paying  out  the  line;  his  face  flushed 
with  pleasure  as  the  kite  rose  higher  and 
higher. 

"There  she  goes!"  he  cried,  triumphant 
ly;  hut,  as  he  stepped  hack  to  give  the 
string  another  pull,  he  lost  his  balance 
and  fell  backward  over  the  low  coping 
around  the  roof. 

As  he  fell  he  struck  the  bow-window  of 
the  salon  below,  where  his  mother  was 
sitting  with  her  sewing,  and  bounced  off, 
striking  the  stones  of  the  court  full 
on  his  head.  His  terrified  brother  ran 
screaming  from  the  roof  to  alarm  the 
house,  and  the  mother  sitting  at  the  win 
dow  heard  him  shout,  "'John  Henry  has 
fallen  from  the  roof!"  Then  she  knew 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    I01 

what  it  was  that  struck  tlu1  sill  as  it 
passed,  and  she  fell  fainting  to  the1  floor. 
lie  was  alive1,  though  unconscious,  when 
they  picked  him  up  and  carried  him  to  his 
room.  Just  before1  evening  he  opened  his 
eyes  and  recognized  his  brother,  who  stood 
by  his  bedside  feeling  like  a  very  mur 
derer.  "Xever  mind.  Will,"  he  said  faint 
ly;  "it  was  all  my  fault."  Then  he  closed 
his  eyes,  and  holding  his  mother's  hand, 
died  (juieily  and  apparently  without  suf- 

Xot  only  did  .lohn  I  lenry's  death  make 
us  all  very  unhappy,  hut  it  cast  a  ^looin 
over  the  entire  village.  All  his  school- 
friends,  with  crape1  sewed  around  their 
coal-sleeves,  came  to  the  funeral.  The 
clergyman  made  every  one  cry  hv  talking 
about  the  bright  yoiin^  life  thus  suddenlv 
ended,  adding  that  the  boy  had  died,  as 
he  had  lived,  trying  to  <^ive  pleasure  to 
others.  At  this  poor  Will  wept  aloud, 
for  lie  thought  thai  if  it  hadn't  been  for 


102  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

him,  John  Henry  might  still  be  alive  and 
well,  instead  of  lying  there  still  and  dead. 

It  was  not  long  after  the  death  of  John 
Henry  that  my  favorite  girl-cousin  died. 
She  was  a  young  lady,  to 'he  sure,  while  I 
was  only  a  child;  hut  I  worshipped  her 
because  she  was  so  beautiful  and  so  amia 
ble.  She  was  white  as  an  Easter  lily,  with 
dark-blue  eyes  and  dark-brown  hair.  So 
beautiful  and  attractive  a  girl  could  not 
fail  to  have  many  admirers,  and  Cousin 
Fanny  counted  hers  by  the  score.  There 
was  no  one  in  the  neighborhood  who  could 
compare  with  her  as  a  horse-womau.  She 
could  ride  horses  that  men  were  afraid  of. 
I  think  she  must  have  been  very  much 
like  the  late  Empress  of  Austria  in  her 
influence  over  them.  She  was  absolutely 
without  fear. 

As  I  first  remember  her,  she  was  very 
pale,  but  after  awhile  I  noticed  that  a 
bright  color  burned  in  her  cheeks,  and  I 
heard  it  whispered  that  she  had  heart- 
disease.  I  did  not  know  what  heart-dis- 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   T05 

ease  was;  but  knew  it  must  be  something 
very  bad,  for  when  it  was  mentioned  peo 
ple  shook  their  heads  and  looked  sad. 
One  day,  as  I  was  racing  across  the  lawn 
to  my  uncle's  house,  which  was  next  door 
to  ours,  1  met  old  Dan,  the  colored  coach 
man.  "Fears  were  running  down  his  black 
(•hecks. 

"What's  the  matter,  Dan?"  1  asked. 

"Miss  Fanny  won't  ride  the  bay  mare 
no  more,"  said  he,  in  a  broken  voice. 

"Why  not,  I  )an?"  said   I. 

"Because  she  gone  died  this  mornin'." 

"Oh,  Dan!" 

"Yes,  she  jest  folded  her  wings,  an' 
went  up  to  heaven  like  the  angel  she  wuz. 
Miss  Faiinv  was  too  good  for  this  world. 
The  Lord  was  honn'  to  git  her,  an'  now 
he's  took  her,"  and  Dan  wiped  his  eyes 
nil  the  cufT  of  his  coat. 

I  felt  a  hard  lump  in  mv  throat,  and 
wondered  if  I  was  going  to  die  too.  I 
did  not  cry.  but  I  felt  very  sad  and  awed. 
There  was  no  girl  in  the  school  or  the  vil- 


106  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

lage  more  loved  than  Fanny,  and  her 
death  was  deeply  and  widely  mourned.  1 
remember  being  particularly  struck  by 
the  number  of  young  men  at  her  funeral, 
six  of  whom  acted  as  pall-bearers,  while 
all  looked  pale  and  sad;  for  Cousin 
Fanny  was  a  great  favorite  with  young 
men,  not  only  because  she  was  beautiful, 
but  because  she  was  a  girl  of  great  amia 
bility  and  wonderfully  attractive  man 
ners. 

There  was  one  young  man  at  her  funer 
al  who  held  my  attention.  I  don't  recol 
lect  that  I  had  ever  seen  him  before;  but, 
he  sat  with  the  family,  as  though  he  were 
one  of  them.  He  was  dressed  in  deep 
mourning,  and  his  face  was  very  pale,  and 
I  noticed  dark  circles  under  his  eyes. 
Whenever  I  looked  at  him  I  wanted  to 
cry,  he  looked  so  sad  and  hopeless.  I  was 
told  afterwards  that  he  and  Fanny  were 
engaged  to  be  married,  and  that  he  had 
just  established  himself  in  business  in  the 
West,  and  was  coming  on  to  have  her 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    '°7 

name  the  \vedding-day  when  he  received 
a  telegram  saying  she  was  dead. 

The  twirls  in  the  school  were  particu 
larly  impressed  by  the  romance1  they  wove 
from  the  appearance  of  the  unhappy 
lover.  From  the  way  they  talked  about, 
the  whole  subject  of  Fanny's  engagement 
and  death,  I  thought  it  must  be  the  loveli 
est  tiling  in  the  world  to  be  engaged;  and 
the  most  romantic  to  die  before  being 
married. 

I  think  that  the  bay  mare.  Fanny's 
favorite  saddle-horse,  must  have-  known 
that  she  would  never  be  ridden  by  her 
gentle  mistress  again:  for  she  refused  food 
till  Dan  thought  she  too  would  die,  and 
she  never  again  allowed  a  woman  to  ride 
her.  Xo  other  woman  had  ever  ridden 
her,  but  she  was  supposed  to  have  been 
cured  of  her  dislike  of  skirts.  Far  from 
it.  She  1  io\ved  to  the  authority  ()f  the 
mistress  she  loved;  she  would  eat  from 
her  hand  and  follow  her  around  like  a 
dog;  hut  woe  betide  anv  other  woman  who 


108  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

came  near  her!  Only  the  most  expert 
horsemen  could  ride  her,  so  she  was  given 
up  as  a  riding-horse  after  Fanny's  death. 

Xo  one  would  have  dreamed  of  putting 
this  beautiful  animal  to  ordinary  carriage- 
work.  Dan  was  the  only  person,  after 
Fanny,  who  had  any  influence  over  her; 
and  he,  discovering  speed  in  her,  put  her 
up  for  trotting  matches,  and  she  did  her 
"two-forty  on  the  plank-road,"  which  was 
fast,  for  those  days,  with  the  hest  of  them. 

Years  later,  walking  down  Broadway 
one  day,  I  noticed  the  stuffed  figure  of  a 
horse  in  a  carriage-maker's  show-room. 
Something  about  the  color  and  huild  of 
the  horse  attracted  my  attention.  I  stepped 
inside  the  door,  and  said  to  the  salesman : 

"Is  that  any  horse  in  particular?  It  has 
a  very  familiar  look  to  me." 

"Well,  I  should  smile,"  said  he.  "That's 
Lady  Blessington,  one  of  the  most  famous 
trotters  of  her  day.  She  used  to  be  a  per 
fect  saddle-horse,  but  after  her  mistress 
died  she'd  never  let  any  one  ride  her." 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   Ic>9 

Then  I  know  why  she  had  looked  so 
familial1  to  me,  for  she  was  my  Cousin 
Fanny's  hay  mare. 

"I  know  her  well,"  said  I,  patting  the 
slull'ed  skin.  "She  was  my  cousin's  sad 
dle-horse,  dear  old  Lady  Blessington!'' 

"Well,  I  never!"  exclaimed  the  man. 
"Mow  things  do  come  round!  There  was 
a  gentleman  in  here  only  yesterday,  who, 
like  you,  said  there  was  something  famil 
iar  aliont  that  horse.  When  I  told  him 
just  what  I  told  you,  he  went  u]>  close  to 
her  and  lient  his  head  down  on  her  neck 
and  patted  her,  and  ]  saw  that  his  eyes 
were  full  of  tears,  lie  didn't  say  anything 
to  me,  Imt  I  thought  thai  he  called  her 
Fanny,  as  he  stroked  her  mane.  lie 
seemed  very  much  cut  up,  so  I  didn't  say 
anything.  Perhaps  you  can  guess  who 
In1  vras.'' 

"Did  he  have  gray  eyes  and  light  hair, 
a  ml  was  he  quite  tall  ?" 

"^  ou'yo  guessed  him.'' 

"That    was  the   yoiiiitr   man    my  Cousin 


110  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

Fanny   was   engaged   to   when   she   died, 
fifteen  years  ago." 

"Fifteen  years  ago — and  feels  like  that 
yet!  Well,  I  never!"  and  he  drew  a  long, 
low  whistle  through  his  puckered  lips. 


IX. 

Tin-:  dentil  <>!'  my  two  cousins  had  so 
depressing  nn  elTect  upon  1110,  tlinl  my 
mother  decided  to  send  me  hnck  to  Aunt 
^Inrin  at  Hirdlington.  There  \vns  nothing' 
that  cnidd  make  me  happier  thnn  the 
prospect  of  such  n  visit — except  the  visit 
itself.  Mv  brother  Sandy  took  me  to  the 
train  in  \e\v  .lei'sey,  where  I  was  to  he 
put  in  chnrire  of  the  conductor,  nnd  Aunt 
Maria  \vas  to  meet  me  on  my  arrival  nt 
Ilird Huston.  The  trnin  did  not  ii'o  till 
nfternooii.  so  I  wns  obliged  to  spend  sev 
eral  hours  in  niv  brother's  ollice  in  New 
York.  It  was  down  town,  in  I'ine  Street; 
and  I  shall  never  forget  the  wnve  of  pride 
that  pnssed  over  me  when  1  snw  Sandy's 
name  in  <j:\\\  letters  on  his  otlice-window. 
I  \\as  aniioved  to  think  thai  I  could  not 
rend  it  as  ivndilv  from  the  inside  ns  from 
the  outside,  nnd  wondered  why  the  let 
ters  should  look  so  nhsurd  from  the  back. 
1 1 1 


112  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

The  hours  of  waiting  passed  pleasantly 
enough,  for  there  was  the  busy  street  to 
look  out  upon;  and  when  I  got  tired  of 
that,  I  had  a  new  toy  to  play  with,  which 
afforded  me  much  entertainment.  It  was 
a  rubber  Scotchman,  in  Highland  dress. 
Apparently,  he  had  no  legs.  These  you 
supplied.  Rubber  leggings,  with  shoes 
neatly  fitted  on,  were  separate  from  the 
torso  of  this  Highlander.  In  his  back 
were  two  holes.  You  put  your  first  and 
second  finger  through  these  holes  and  put 
the  ends  of  these  two  fingers  into  the  leg 
gings;  and  there  you  had  your  Highland 
laddie  in  his  kilt,  with  his  bare  legs,  the 
latter  made  by  your  fingers.  Of  course  he 
would  dance,  or  walk,  or  kick,  at  your 
bidding.  It  was  a  most  amusing  toy,  and 
I  often  wonder  why  it  is  no  longer  made. 
Luncheon — my  first  meal  at  a  restaurant 
— helped  pass  the  time.  I  enjoyed  the 
noise  and  confusion,  and  admired  the  dex 
terity  of  the  waiters.  Sandy  handed  me  the 
bill  of  fare;  and,  not  knowing  the  modus 


Autobiography  ot  a  Tomboy.    "3 


i,  I  picked  out  a  list  of  tilings  long 
enough  to  stock  a  boarding-house.  ''1 
may  not  want  them  all,"  I  said  thought 
fully,  "hut  \ve  might  as  well  order  them." 

Sandy  was  young  and  easily  embar 
rassed;  hut  1  fancy  that,  when  he  reckoned 
ii})  the  cost  and  thought  of  the  amount  of 
money  in  Ins  pocket-book,,  he  decided  that 
it  was  better  to  explain  to  me  than  to  the 
\\aitcr.  I  accepted  his  explanation,  but 
wondered  what  was  the  use  of  putting  so 
many  things  on  the  bill  of  fare  when  one 
ate  so  few. 

It  was  ipiite  late  in  the  afternoon  when 
1  arrived  at  P>irdlington,  but  Aunt  Maria 
met  me  at  the  station,  and  I  had  no  ad 
ventures  by  the  way.  How  glad  I  was  to 
be  again  at  the  old,  familiar  place!  Tea 
was  ready  for  us  when  we  arriyed  at  the 
hon<e.  hut  I  was  surprised  not  to  see  Di 
ana's  turhaned  head  and  carpeted  feet.. 
Diana,  Aunt  Maria  explained,  had  gone  to 
Philadelphia  to  nurse  a  sister  who  was  ill, 
and  had  left  her  friend,  Mary  Jane  Ever- 


"4  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

man,  to  fill  the  void  caused  by  her  ab 
sence.  Mary  Jane  was  also  a  colored 
\voman,  the  only  one  of  her  race  with 
whom  Diana  ever  associated,  and  the  only 
person  upon  whom  she  looked  with  awe. 
Mary  Jane  could  read  and  write,  and  Di 
ana  could  do  neither:  and  the  former  was 
so  "proud  of  herself,"  as  her  'enemies  ex 
pressed  it,  that  Diana  felt  it  an  honor  to 
be  numbered  among  her  friends. 

Mary  Jane  was,  in  manner  and  appear 
ance,  much  superior  to  the  average  colored 
woman  of  the  village.  She  belonged  to 
the  "iris," — an  abbreviation  of  "iristoc- 
racy,'"1 — Diana  explained  to  my  aunt.  She 
was  a  good  cook,  too,  which  was  rather  to 
be  wondered  at,  for  she  was  a  bit  of  a 
blue-stocking. 

After  Mary  Jane  had  left  the  room,  and 
T  had  begun  my  onslaught  upon  the 
"frizzled"  beef,  Aunt  Maria  explained  that 
there  had  been  some  changes  at  the  old 
place  since  my  last  visit.  She  had  rented 
the  house  to  a  gentleman  who  was  living 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    IJ5 

there  with  his  wife  and  two  suns.  Neither 
the  gentleman  nor  the  t\vo  sons  were  therr 
at  present.  The  gentleman,  ^\Ir.  Monroe, 
had  asked  her  to  stay  at  the  house  while, 
lie  \vas  away,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  leave 
his  wife  alone.  "Where  is  the  lady?"  I 
asked;  "why  didn't  she  come  in  to  sup 
per?" 

"She  has  her  rooms  in  the  hack  wing,'' 
said  my  aunt,  "and  her  nurse  takes  her 
meals  in  to  her." 

"  Is  she  sick?"  I   continued. 

"She  is  not  very  well,"  replied  Aunt 
.Maria,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, — add 
ing,  apropos  of  nothing,  "Mr.  Fowler 
asked  after  you  to-day,  Nell." 

"hid  he?"  said  I:  hut  I  was  not  inter 
ested,  as  I  wanted  to  know  more  ahout 
the  lady  in  the  hack  wing.  The  hack  wing 
was  always  a  mysterious  sort  of  place  to 
me;  it  was  so  hig  and  gloomy.  It  had 
hem  luiilt  Cora  school,  and  was  connected 
with  the  main  house  hy  a  passage:  a  sort 
of  Sia uiese-t  win  arrangement,  so  that  it 


Il6  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

was  really  quite  a  thing  apart.  That  the 
stranger  should  have  her  rooms  in  the 
hack  wing  aroused  my  curiosity. 

'"Does  the  sick  lady  sleep  alone  in  the 
hack  wing?" 

"Xo,"  replied  Aunt  Maria;  "she  has 

her  attend ,  I  mean  her  nurse,  with 

her." 

"Well,  I  think  it's  very  funny  for  her 
to  live  alone  in  there,  with  her  nurse, 
when  you  are  here  to  keep  her  company." 

"You  will  find  a  good  many  tilings  that 
are  'funny/  as  you  call  it,  before  you  art- 
done,"  said  my  aunt,  helping  me  bounti 
fully  to  sap  sago  cheese.  "And  now,  we'll 
talk  about  something  else.  How  are  your 
little  sisters?" 

"They're  well,  thank  you.     Can  I  see 

• 

the  sick  lady,  ever?" 

"Yes,  you  can  see  her  to-morrow.  She 
is  very  fond  of  children.  She's  little  more 

than  a  chi .  Have  some  more  cheese; 

it  won't  hurt  you." 

J  tried  hard  to  get  Aunt  Maria  to  tell 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    M7 

me  more  about  the  lady  in  the  hack  wing, 
luit  she  put  me  off,  and  finally  took  me  up 
to  bed.  If  was  a  long  time  before1  I  got 
to  sleep.  1  could  not  get  my  mind  off  the 
lady  in  the  back  wing.  She  was  sick; 
that  much  I  knew,  hut  no  more.  I  imag 
ined  her  a  fair,  fragile  thing,  and  I  felt 
very  sorry  for  her,  off  in  that  big,  gloomy 
wing,  with  no  one  but  a  nurse.  When  I 
went  to  sleep  I  dreamed  about  her.  I 
thought  she  was  so  fragile  that  von  could 
almost  see  through  her,  and  that  she  was 
very  pretty  and  very  sad. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  I 
was  eager  to  make  the  promised  vi>it  to 
the  invalid:  but  had  to  possess  mv  soul 
in  patience  until  I  had  dried  the  glass  and 
silver  that  Aunt  Maria  had  washed.  This 
was  a  regular  part  of  the  day's  work,  and 
never  omitted.  When  the  breakfast  was 
over  and  the  dishes  cleared  awav,  Marv 
rlane  brought  in  two  little  wooden  tubs 
bound  with  brass  and  filled  with  hoiling 
water.  These  she  set  on  a  tray  before 


Il8  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

Aunt  Maria,  who  washed  the  glass  and 
silver  in  one  and  rinsed  them  in  the  other. 
It  was  my  duty  to  dry  them,  and  I  cannot 
say  that  I  disliked  it.  On  this  particular 
morning,  however,  I  was  so  anxious  to  see 
the  mysterious  lady  that  any  task  would 
have  been  irksome  that  postponed  the 
gratification  of  my  curiosity.  As  soon  as 
the  last  spoon  was  wiped,  I  said:  ''Now, 
Aunty,  can't  we  go  and  see  the  sick  lady?" 

"Yes,"  said  Aunt  Maria,  taking  off  the 
apron  that  she  wore  when  performing  her 
household  tasks,  "1  suppose  we  may  go 
now  as  well  as  any  time." 

Then  rising  and  looking  seriously  at 
me,  she  gave  me  this  warning:  "You  know 
sick  people  are  not  always  like  other  peo 
ple,  and  you  are  not  to  make  remarks." 

She  led  the  way  and  I  followed.  When 
we  reached  the  door  of  the  room  that  had 
been  the  school-room,  she  knocked.  A 
quick,  sharp  voice  said,  ''Come  in,"  and 
we  entered. 

The  room  was  large  and  sparsely  fur- 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    "9 

nished.  There  was  a  hi^  stove  in  the 
middle,  screened  oil'  by  a  hi(u'h  heavy  wire 
fence,  that  ran  entirely  around  it.  l>e- 
liind  this  was  a  massive  bedstead  with  a 
cot  beside  it.  A  few  lieavy  chairs,  placed 
at  intervals  about  the  room,  completed 
the  furniture.  As  we  entered,  a  little 
woman  came  forward  to  meet  us.  She  was 
short  and  thin,  with  a  sharp  nose  and 
keen,  irray  eyes.  Suddenly,  from  a  bi^ 
armchair  behind  her.  rose  another  woman. 
I  shuddered  when  I  saw  her.  and  cliin^  to 
Aunt  Maria's  dress.  She  was  tall  and 
Moiit.  and  must  have  weighed  two  hun 
dred  and  liflv  pound.-.  I  thought  that  1 

had    lleVer  before  -eel)   ailVolle  (|Ulte  so   ]>!;_:'. 

It  was  her  face,  however,  rather  than  her 
-i/.e  that  frightened  me.  Her  features 
were  larire  and  her  complexion  red  lo 
purplenes.-,  and  there  was  little  or  no  ex 
pression  in  her  blue  eye-.  I  pitied  the 
pooi'  little  sick  woman  with  such  a  nurse, 
for  that  is  \\hat  I  imagined  the  bi^  woman 

to    be. 


120  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"Good  morning,  Aunt  Lushington/' 
said  the  big  woman. 

"Good  morning,  dear,"  replied  my 
aunt,  whose  name  was  not  Lushington. 
"I've  brought  my  little  niece  to  play  with 
you/'  and  she  drew  me  towards  the  big 
woman.  Astonishment  and  fear  held  me 
back. 

"It's  little  Cousin  ]>ctty,"  said  the  lat 
ter,  grinning  at  me.  "'Come  over  here  and 
see  my  doll,"  and  she  beckoned  me  to  a 
far  corner  of  the  room.  I  hesitated. 

"Go,  Xell;  Mrs.  Monroe  wants  you  to 
see  her  doll." 

I  \\ent  reluctantly.  Aunt  Maria  and 
the  little  woman  conversed  in  undertones, 
but  I  heard  the  latter  say: 

"The  poor  baby  had  a  bad  night.  I 
was  up  with  her  three  or  four  times." 

I  looked  around  for  a  baby,  but  saw.  by 
the  way  they  nodded  their  heads  towards 
the  big  woman,  that  it  was  she  they  called 
by  that  name.  In  the  meantime  she  had 
taken  a  doll  from  a  chair,  and  was  holding 
it  up  for  my  inspection. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    I2F 

"Her  name's  ('ecilia,"  said  the  hi^ 
unman.  "Have  you  ^ot  a  doll?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  wishing  I  were  where 
that  same  doll  was. 

"(Jet  it,"  said  she,  peremptorily. 

"I  can't,"  said  I,  "it's  af  inv  home." 

"(Jet  it  when  you  ^o  there,  and  hrin^  it 
to  me.  I  love  dolls.  Can  you  play  the 
piano?" 

"No,"  said  1 .     "( 'an  yon  ?" 

"I'll  show  you  if  she'll  lei  me,"  and 
-he  rolled  her  eyes  toward  the  little 
woman. 

The  latter  approached  us,  and,  patting 
the  lii'_r  woman  <>n  the  arm,  .-aid:  "What 
is  it,  llahy?" 

"I  want  to  plav  the  piano  for  this  little 

<rirl." 

"Some  dav,"  said  the  other,  shaking 
her  head  :  "not  to-day." 

"I  will,"  said  r>aby,  with  a  determined 
look  in  her  eyes. 

"Xoi  to-dav,  dearie,"  said  the  other, 
(irmly.  "You  know  it  excites  you  too 


122  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

The  hig  woman  looked  into  the  steady, 
sharp  eyes  of  the  little  woman;  then  she 
shifted  her  own  and  whimpered  a  little. 
I  was  staring  with  a  frightened  stare, 
wondering  what  it  all  meant,  when  the 
big  woman  burst  into  a  discordant  laugh. 
"What's  the  matter  with  Cousin  Betty?'' 
said  she,  looking  at  me. 

"Xothing,"  I  replied;  "only  1  want  to 
go  when  you  go,  Aunt  Maria."  My  aunt 
took  me  by  the  hand. 

"I  think  we  had  better  go  now,  Mar 
tin,"  she  said,  addressing  the  little  woman. 
"We'll  come  in  again  soon.  Say  good 
bye  to  Mrs.  Monroe,  Xell."  And  never 
did  I  say  "good-bye"  with  more  genuine 
pleasure. 

Back  again  in  Aunt  Maria's  cozy  draw 
ing-room,  I  said  to  her:  "I  never,  in  all 
my  born-days,  saw  such  a  funny  lady." 

"Didn't  you:''  asked  Aunt  Maria.  Then 
she  explained  that  Mrs.  Monroe  was  not 
well,  and  that  often,  when  people  were 
not  well,  they  did  not  act  the  same  as 
when  they  were. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   I23 

"I  hope  that  Mrs.  Monroe  will  get  well 
soon,"  said  I,  "because  I  don't  like  ladies 
who  are  sick  that  way." 

Aunt  Maria  told  me  not  to  be  unchari 
table,  and  soon  1  went  out  to  see  the 
cows  and  pigs,  and  for  the  time  being  for 
got  the  strange  lady  of  the  back  wing. 

I  had  not  been  long  with  Aunt  Maria 
before  I  got  on  very  good  terms  with  Mrs. 
Monroe,  and  we  played  with  dolls  and 
other  toys  with  much  pleasure  to  both  of 
us.  One  day,  after  having  attended  a 
child's  party,  I  went  into  Mrs.  Monroe's 
room  to  tell  her  about  it,  and  to  sho\v  her 
the  pastry-angel  from  the  top  of  the  birth 
day  cake  that  had  been  given  to  me.  She 
was  delighted  with  it.  "(Jive  it  to  me,'' 
she  demanded. 

"No,  I  want  it,''  said  I,  and  drew  it  back 
from  her.  Quicker  than  a  flash  she  sprang 
toward  me  with  angry  eyes  and  uplifted 
fist.  The  expression  of  her  face  terrified 
me;  but,  before  I  could  speak  or  act,  Mar 
tin  drew  something  from  her  pocket,  and 


I24  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

in  a  second  she  had  that  something  clasped 
on  the  big  woman's  wrists.  I  did  not 
wait  for  an  explanation,  but  flew,  as  fast 
as  my  legs  would  carry  me,  to  Aunt  Maria 
to  tell  her  what  had  happened. 

Then  my  aunt,  with  serious  and  sym 
pathetic  words,  told  me  that  Mrs.  Mon 
roe  was  mad;  that  I  need  not  he  afraid  of 
her,  because  Martin — that  scrap  of  a 
woman — had  perfect  control  of  her,  hut  T 
had  better  not  go  to  the  back  wing  for  a 
few  days,  as  the  sight  of  me  might  excite 
the  unfortunate  lady.  For  a  few  days! 
Xever  again  would  I  he  caught  there;  wild 
horses  could  not  drag  me  to  that  side  of 
the  house,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life,  I  wanted  to  go  home  hefore  my  visit 
to  Aunt  Maria  was  over. 


X. 

NOT  having  Mrs.  Monroe1  to  play  witli, 
I  sought  the  society  of  Mary  Jane  in  the 
kitchen.  She  was  more  amiable  than  Di 
ana,  and  was  fond  of  discussing  abstruse 
subjects  with  me.  such,  for  instance,  as 
the  vanity  of  all  earthly  things, — except, 
perhaps,  the  higher  education.  For  that 
she  had  a  profound  veneration.  And  why 
not?  For,  did  she  not  possess  it?  .lane 
did  not  "dip"  snulT  like  Diana.  The  ink- 
bottle  was  the  only  thing  that  she  dipped 
into,  and  she  confessed  to  me  one  day 
that  she  was  a  poet.  I  did  not  know  just 
what  a  poet  was;  but  1  kne\v  that  Byron, 
with  whose  portrait  1  was  familiar,  was 
one.  And  I  wondered  if  Mary  .lane  was 
a  colored  Bvron.  I  asked,  one  day,  to 
make  sure. 

"I»vruni!  I'm  not  Byrum,  Honey,"  said 
she.  "I'vrtim  was  a  great  poet,  but  he 
127 


128  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

wasn't  a  nice  man.  They  say  awful  tilings 
about  him.  He  was  a  terrible  flirt.  That 
maid  of  Athens  was  only  one;  and  you 
may  be  sure  he  wanted  his  heart  back  from 
her,  just  so  he  could  give  it  some  one  else." 

"What's  a  flirt?"  I  asked,  wondering  if 
it  was  anything  like  Mrs.  Monroe. 

"A  flirt!"  and  she  laughed  as  only  a 
darkey,  even  an  educated  one,  can  laugh. 
"I  can't  explain  to  you,  Honey,  but  you'll 
know,  all  in  good  time." 

''Are  yon  like  Byron,  Mary  Jane?" 

"What  yon  mean,  me  like  Byruin?  I'm 
a  respectable  woman,  I'll  have  you  know. 
'Cause  I  told  you  I  wrote  poetry,  you 
think  I'm  like  Byrum,  'do  you?  Well,  I 
ain't  that  kind  of  a  poet."  And  Mary 
Jane  looked  so  angry  that  I  wondered  if 
she  was  afflicted  like  Mrs.  Monroe,  and 
whether  there  was  any  one  near  who 
would  put  handcuffs  on  her  wrists.  I  sup 
pose  that  I  must  have  looked  frightened, 
for  she  broke  out  into  a  laugh  again. 

"You    look    like    you    was    skeered    to 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   I29 

death,  chile,"  said  she.  "There  ain't 
nothin'  to  be  skeered  about,  only  I  did 
feel  highly  insulted  when  you  asked  me 
it'  I  was  like  I>yrum." 

"Kxeuse  me,  Mary  Jane.  I  didn't  mean 
to  insult  you,"  I  replied,  meekly;  "I  only 
wanted  to  know,  for  you  said  you  were  a 
poet,  too." 

''So  1  am,  but  1  ain't  that  kind.  I  ain't 
no  11  ill.  J  write  different  poetry  from 
Byruiu.  -lust  you  wait  until  I  get  this 
bread  in  the  pans,  an'  I'll  show  you  what 
I  write.  You  mus'n't  say  anything  about 
it  to  .Miss  Mari,  do  you  hear?" 

"Yes,  I  hear;  but  why  mustn't  1  tell 
Aunt  Maria?  Is  it  wrong  to  be  a  poet?" 

"Xo  it  ain't,"  fiercely;  "but  some  folks 
has  an  idea  that  if  yon  read  books  an'  write 
poetry,  you  ain't  no  good  for  work." 

"But  you  are  good  for  both,  aren't 
you  ?" 

".lest  you  wait,"  putting  the  last  bit  of 
dough  in  the  pan;  "I'll  show  you." 

With   that  she  scraped  the  dough   from 


I2°  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

her  hands  with  a  knife,  and  crossed  over 
to  an  unused  brick  oven  built  in  one  side 
of  the  kitchen-wall.  Opening  the  iron 
door,  she  reached  back  into  the  darkness 
and  pulled  out  a  copy-book  that  had  seen 
better  days.  "There,"  said  she,  adjusting 
her  spectacles,  taking  her  seat  on  the  "set 
tle"  under  the  window,  and  carefully 
opening  the  copy-book.  "Do  you  know 
what  a  Acrostic'  is?" 

"No,"  I  admitted,  guiltily;  "what  is  a 
cross-stick?" 

"This  is  a  Acrostic,' "  and  she  pointed 
at  the  writing.  "It's  a  Acrostic'  on  my  own 
name,  Mary  Jane  Everman.  Jest  look 
over  my  shoulder  as  I  read,  an'  you'll  see 
that  the  fust  letter  of  each  line  spells  my 
name." 

"Oh,  Mary  Jane,  how  wonderful!" 

"Wonderful,  I  believe  you!  Now  lis 
ten." 

Then  slowly,  because  she  was  not  yet 
.quite  familiar  with  her  own  hand,  writing 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   !3r 

being  a  newly  acquired  accomplishment, 
she  read: 

"Many  is  the  trials  of  the  lonely  maid, 
And    many    is  the    snares  in    her  pathway 

laid, 

Kiches  is  no  temptation  for  her  to  stray  ; 
Yet  while  she's  in  this  world  she  may. 

"Joyous  is  her  anticipations, 
E'en  though  the  world  may  scorn 
And  laugh  at  her  with  joyous  mirth, 
Nearer  the  verge  of  eternity  she'll  merge." 

"That  spells  'Jean,'"  I  interrupted 
rudely. 

"Yes,  I  know  it  does;  I  always  call  my 
middle  name  Jean  in  poetry;  it  sounds 
better  than  .lane,  but  don't  interrupt  me. 
It  ain't  polite." 

"E'en  with  a  heart  sincere,  e'en  with  a  mind 

serene, 

Vaves  of  Jordan  round  her  play, 
E'en  fearlessly  she'll  lance  away. 
Relations  thought  her  not  sincere  ; 
Many  hard  things  did  say, 
And  oft  her  shield  she'd  cast  away  ; 
Now  she  will  bid  the  world  farewell,  and  in 

His  bosom  stay." 


*32  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

When  she  had  finished,  she  laid  down 
the  book  and  looked  at  me  over  her  spec 
tacles. 

"It's  lovely,  Mary  Jane!"  I  exclaimed, 
with  genuine  admiration.  "You  use  such 
big  words!'' 

"Do  I?"  with  complacency.  "What 
were  they?" 

I  took  up  the  copy-book  and  pointed. 

"There's  one,— 'Vaves';  what's  that?" 

"It  means  waves;  I  had  to  say  that  to 
get  the  V, — don't  you  see?  You  have  to 
do  that  in  Acrostics'." 

"Then  there  was  another.  Oh!  here  it 
is,"  laying  my  finger  on  it.  "  'Lance 
away.'  What's  'lance'?" 

"  'Lance,'  that  ain't  a  big  word.  I'm 
s'prised  you  don't  know  what  that  is.  It's 
what  boats  do.  Didn't  you  ever  hear  of  a 
boat  being  lanced  into  the  water?" 

"I  didn't  know  you  meant  that,"  said  I, 
trying  not  to  laugh.  "That  isn't  what  I 
call  it." 

"Then   you   don't    call    it    right.     It's 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    '33 

lance,  and  that's  all  there  is  about  it;"  and 
she  rose  indignantly  and  put  the  precious 
manuscript  back  in  the  oven.  I  tried  to 
soothe  her  wounded  feelings  by  saying 
that  I  did  not  believe  Byron  could  have 
done  better;  but,  as  she  was  quite,  con 
fident  he  could  not  have  done  so  well, 
that  did  not  mollify  her,  so  1  thought 
it  best  to  leave  the  kitchen  for  awhile. 

I  wandered  aimlessly  around  the 
grounds,  and  seeing  the  barnyard  gate 
open,  walked  boldly  in.  What  fiend 
prompted  me  to  strav  beyond  that  portal, 
I  wonder?  In  a  moment  \  was  greeted 
with  a  chorus  of  hisses  such  as  only  the 
villain  in  a  P>o\very  melodrama  could  ex 
cite.  I  had  come  suddenly  upon  a  flock 
of  geese,  headed  by  an  old  gander,  who 
flew  at  me,  and  seizing  my  skirts  in  his 
bill  beat  me  with  his  wings,  while  the 
geese  crowded  around  and  peeked  at  my 
legs.  T  screamed  with  all  my  might.  The 
situation  was  becoming  dangerous,  when 
•  lohn,  the  Monroe's  coachman,  appeared 


J34  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

with  a  pitchfork  and  drove  my  assailants 
away.  I  was  really  hurt,  for  the  old 
gander's  wings  were  strong  and  the  bills 
of  the  geese  were  hard.  To  this  day,  I 
would  rather  walk  a  mile  than  pass  a  flock 
of  geese;  and  the  sound  of  a  hiss  in  the 
theatre  is  as  unpleasantly  suggestive  to 
me  as  to  the  actor  who  calls  it  forth. 

John  came  to  my  rescue  and  gave  me 
a  friendly  warning  to  let  geese  alone. 

"But  I  was  letting  them  alone,"  I 
whimpered;  "I  wasn't  doing  a  thing  to 
them  when  they  flew  at  me." 

"Tell  that  to  the  marines!  I  know 
children,  especially  tomboys,"  said  the 
skeptical  John. 

Mary  Jane  saw  that  something  was, 
wrong  as  I  hurried  through  the  kitchen. 

"What's  the  matter,  chile?"  she  said,  in 
a  kindly  voice.  Apparently  she  had  for 
gotten  my  criticism  of  her  pronouncia- 
tion.  I  stopped  and  told  her  about  the 
geese. 

"Well,  I  never!"  she  exclaimed.     "You 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    '35 

ought  to  be  called  'Scape-Many- Dan 
gers.'  I  never  knew  a  chile  to  'scape  as 
much  as  you  do.  1  wonder  what  you're 
being  kep'  for?"  And  she  looked  as  though 
she  would  really  like  to  know.  She  was 
not  Ihe  only  person  who  wondered. 

Aunt  Maria  was  very  sympathetic  when 
I  told  her  of  my  adventure,  but  she  ad 
monished  me  that  the  barnyard  was  not  a 
place  for  a  young  lady,  even  one  so  young 
as  I,  to  play  in.  I  noticed  that  she  was 
arraying  herself  in  her  best  gown,  so  I 
asked  her  where  she  was  going;  and,  when 
I  found  that  it  was  to  a  wedding,  I  wanted 
to  go  too.  Aunt  Maria  hesitated,  but  I 
promised  to  behave,  so  I  was  arrayed  in 
my  best  bib  and  tucker  and  taken  along. 

The  wedding  was  at  the  church,  and 
the  whole  town  was  there  to  see;  and  well 
it  might  be!  The  bride  was  a  venerable 
widow,  and  the  bridegroom,  though 
younger,  was  blind.  Tin;  wedding  guests 
said  freely,  among  themselves,  that  had 
lie  not  been  blind,  there  would  have  been 


*36  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

no  wedding — forgetting  that  love  is  al 
ways  hlind. 

I  had  been  used  to  young  and  pretty 
brides,  and  when  I  saw  this  plain  and 
ancient  dame  coming  np  the  aisle,  I 
thought  there  must  be  some  mistake. 

"I  never,  in  all  my  born-days,  saw  such 
a  funny  bride,"  I  said  to  Aunt  Maria  in 
a  penetrating  whisper.  A  smile  passed 
over  the  faces  of  those  nearest  to  us,  and 
my  aunt  put  her  hand  gently  over  my 
mouth. 

No  wonder  I  was  surprised  at  the  bride's 
appearance;  for  she  was  not  only  old 
enough  to  know  Letter,  but  was  deeply 
pitted  by  small-pox.  The  bridegroom  was 
led  up  the  aisle  on  the  arm  of  his  best 
man,  and  the  ceremony  proceeded.  She 
swore  to  love,  honor  and  obey,  and  lie 
promised  with  all  his  worldly  goods  to 
her  endow,  though  the  little  money  there 
was  belonged  to  the  woman.  Other  im 
pecunious  men,  however,  have  made  the 
same  promise  before  and  since;  and  with 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    '37 

no  more.1  thought  of  its  absurdity.  The 
happy  couple  walked  gayly  down  the  aisle 
to  the  music  of  the  hymn,  "This  is  the 
Way  I  Long  Have  Sought,"  plaved  in 
march  time  by  the  mischievous  organist. 
As  we  moved  along  I  saw  ^lary  Jane 
standing  on  a  seat  near  the  door,  taking 
it  all  in. 

After  supper  that  evening,  when  Aunt 
Maria  left  me  to  go  into  the  back  wing 
to  inquire  after  Mrs.  Monroe,  I  slipped 
into  the  kitchen  to  exchange  views  on  the 
wedding  wit  h  Marv  .lane. 

"Well,  1  never!"  said  she,  ''at  her  time 
of  life  and  a  widder,  too!  They  say  that 
blind  folks  pass  their  hands  over  your 
face  to  find  out  who  you  are.  I  guess  he 
won't  make  any  mistake  about  her  with 
them  pitfalls  all  over  her  face."  After 
looking  at  me  with  a  somewhat  hesitating 
expression,  Mary  .lane  said:  "I've  writ 
ten  some  poetry  about  the  weddin'  since 

It  ••< 

ca me  home. 

"Oh,  do  let  me  see  it !" 


!38  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  after  the  way 
you  talked  about  my  words  this  mo'nin'." 

"Oh,  please,  Mary  Jane;  I  won't  say 
anything  more,"  I  pleaded  eagerly. 

If  I  had  been  older,  I  should  have 
known  that  her  coyness  was  assumed. 
Crossing  to  the  old  oven,  she  again  took 
out  the  dilapidated  copy-book. 

"Tain't  very  long,"  she  said,  settling 
herself  to  read.  I  stood  at  her  knee  while 
the  self-constituted  village  laureate  read 
these  lines: 

"With  one  triumphant  bound 

From  Hymen's  happy  altar 
She  said,  'Dear  Sir,  I've  got 

Your  head  into  a  halter.' 
But  could  he  by  one  glance  discern 

Those  very  ugly  features 
He'd  say,  Alas  !    I've  got 

The  ugliest  of  creatures." 

"Oh,  Mary  Jane!"  I  exclaimed,  "did 
you  really  write  that  all  yourself?" 

"Every  line  of  it,"  said  she,  with  con 
scious  pride.  "Who  else  do  you  suppose 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   '39 

did  it?  I  don't  believe  there's  another 
person  in  this  town  could  have  written 
that.  All  in  a  moment,  too."  And  Mary 
Jane  rolled  her  eyes,  as  who  should  say, 
"If  this  is  not  inspiration,  it  is  something 
akin  to  it." 

Poor  Mary  Jane!  The  fate  of  the  poet 
is  apt  to  he  tragic,  and  hers  was  like  many 
another.  After  Diana's  return  she  left 
Aunt  Maria's  service,  and  some  time  later 
was  married.  Her  husband  was  a  one- 
legged  white  man,  who  beat  her  with  his 
crutch.  Perhaps  he  beat  her  once  too 
often,  for  she  died  suddenly  and  mysteri 
ously,  bequeathing  the  old  copy-book  to 
a  former  employer. 


XI. 

WHILE  the  friendly  relations  I  had  at 
one  time  held  with  Mrs.  Monroe  were 
never  resumed,  I  yet  plucked  up  courage 
to  visit  her  once  in  a  while,  but  always 
under  my  aunt's  protecting  wing.  The 
poor  woman  seemed  to  have  quite  forgot 
ten  the  late  unpleasantness,  and  was  dis 
posed  to  he  very  friendly.  On  the  last  of 
my  visits  she  wanted  to  play  "puss-in-the- 
corner'  with  me,  hut  I  was  afraid.  There 
was  no  corner,  even  of  that  big  room,  far 
enough  away  from  so  terrible  a  puss.  She 
was  put  out  when  I  declined,  and  pouted 
and  sulked,  so  that  Aunt  Maria  insisted 
that  I  should  play  with  her  while  she 
waited  for  me.  It  was  not  a  very  joyous 
game  so  far  as  I  was  concerned.  AYe  did 
not  stay  long,  and  I  was  glad  to  get  back 
to  the  front  part  of  the  house,  where, 
fortunately  for  me,  Mrs.  Monroe  never 
thought  of  coming. 

140 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   T43 

Aunt  Maria  had  little  more  than  seated 
herself  with  her  work-basket  on  the  tahle 
beside  her,  when  John,  the  coachman,,  ap 
peared  at  the  door  with  a  large  envelope 
in  his  hand,  addressed  in  bold,  black  let 
ters,  which  lie  handed  to  my  aunt. 

"It's  from  Mr.  Monroe,  Miss  Ma'ri;  per 
haps  I'd  better  wait  and  see  if  there's  any 
orders." 

Aunt  Maria  read  the  letter  while  he 
waited. 

"You're  quite1  right,  John.''  said  she; 
"it  is  from  Mr.  Monroe,  and  he  will  be  at 
home  to-day  in  time  for  dinner,  bringing 
C'olonel  Harton  with  him.  lie  wants  you 
to  meet  the  live-o'clock  train." 

"Yes,  miss,"  said  John,  and  touching 
his  forelock  he  retired. 

Aunt  Maria  then  put  aside  her  sewing, 
and  went  over  the  house  to  see  that  every 
thing  was  in  order  for  her  tenant's  return. 
I  was  very  much  interested  and  trotted  hy 
her  side,  asking  innumerable  questions,  as 
was  my  tiresome  habit. 


J44  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"Will  Mrs.  Monroe  be  glad  to  see  her 
husband?"  I  inquired. 

"Aren't  wives  usually  glad  to  see  their 
husbands  when  they've  been  away?"  re 
plied  my  aunt. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  they  are;  but  then, 
she's  such  a  funny  wife!  Will  he  be  glad 
to  see  her?" 

"Yes,  he  will  be  very  glad  to  see  her. 
lie  is  very  fond  of  her,  even  though  she 
be  'funny',  as  you  say." 

"Perhaps  he's  funny,  too,"  said  I,  won 
dering  if  they  were  two  of  a  kind,  and 
whether  the  Colonel  Barton  who  was  coin 
ing  with  him  was  his  attendant.  On  this 
point,  however,  Aunt  Maria  gave  me  no 
satisfaction,  possibly  because  I  did  not 
press  her.  I  decided  that,  if  it  were  true 
that  Mr.  Monroe  was  afflicted  like  his 
wife,  I  would  rather  not  know  it  till  I 
was  obliged  to.  The  thought  of  two  mad 
people  in  the  house,  however,  did  not  tend 
to  cheer  me. 

By  ihe  time  everything  was  in  readi- 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    I4^ 

ness  I'o]1  his  nulling,  Mr.  Monroe  and  his 
friend,  ('oloiicl  llarton,  arrived.  We 
greeted  them  in  the1  big  hall,  and  any 
doubts  J  had  had  as  to  the  sanitv  of  the 
former  vanished  the  moment  1  heard  him 
>peak.  He  was  a  big,  gentle  man,  with  a 
big.  gentle  voice  and  most  engaging  man 
ners.  He  jiatted  me  on  the  head  and 
asked  me  what  I  would  take  for  my  eyes; 
and  while  I  was  wondering  what  would  be 
a  fair  price,  he  turned  to  Ann!  Maria, 
with  whom  lie  talked  in  low,  earnest  tones. 
I  could  hear  him  say  "liabv"  once  in  a 
while,  so  I  knew  that  they  were  talking 
about  the  liig  woman  in  the  hack  win^;. 

About  the  sanity  of  the  friend  Mr. 
Monroe  brought  with  him  I  was  not  so 
sure.  He  was  a  strange-looking  man,  tall 
and  thin,  witli  a  long,  inkv-black  beard 
and  a  pasiy.  white  complexion.  lie  was 
dressed  in  black  broadcloth,  and  carried  a 
black-beaver  hat  in  his  hand.  While 
Aunt  Maria  and  Mr.  Monroe  were  talking, 
he  not  iced  me  for  1  he  first  I  ime. 


!46  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"Well,  little  girl,"  he  said,  in  a  deep, 
gloomy  voice,  "and  who  are  you?" 

I  explained  as  well  as  I  could,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  satisfied. 

"I  hope  that  you  are  a  good  little  girl," 
he  remarked,  fixing  his  large,  black  eyes 
firmly  upon  me. 

I  said  that  I  hoped  that  I  was,  and  was 
about  to  add  that  I  was  afraid  that  I 
wasn't,  when  Mr.  Monroe  said  to  my  aunt, 
as  he  passed  up  the  stairs,  Colonel  Barton 
following: 

"Tell  Martin,  please,  Miss  Maria,  that 
I  should  like  to  see  Baby  in  the  drawing- 
room  before  dinner,  and  that  I  wish  her 
to  dine  with  us  this  evening.  She  hasn't 
seen  Colonel  Barton  for  a  long  time,  and 
she  will  be  glad  to  see  him." 

Aunt  Maria  looked  troubled  as  Mr. 
Monroe  gave  this  message,  but  she  only 
said:  "As  you  wish,"  and  passed  down  the 
hall  to  the  wing,  I  at  her  heels.  When 
she  delivered  the  message  to  Martin,  the 
latter  shook  her  head  and  said  that  it  was 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   J47 

a  great  mistake,  as  it  always  excited  Mrs. 
Monroe  to  see  new  faces.  She  was  obliged 
to  obey  orders,  however.,  and  shortly  be 
fore  dinner  we  all  met  in  the  drawing- 
room.  I  noticed  that  Mr.  Monroe  treated 
his  wife  exactly  as  though  she  were  a 
child.  lie  was  very  kind  and  gentle  with 
her,  and  gave  her  bonbons,  with  which  she 
filled  her  mouth  and  ate  them  with  much 
enjoyment.  She  called  her  husband 
"Brother  Thomas,"  and  seemed  very  glad 
to  see  him;  but  she  paid  little  attention  to 
the  guest.  While  she  was  chewing  the 
bonbons,  I  heard  .Mr.  Monroe  telling  Colo 
nel  Barton  that  she  played  the  piano  as 
well  ;is  ever.  "My  dear,"  he  said,  turning 
to  "'Baby"  and  tnking  one  of  her  big  fat 
bands  in  his,  "T  want  you  to  play  us 
something,"  and  he  led  her  towards  the 
piano.  She  simpered,  but  hesitated  as 
her  eye  ('aught  Mart  iifs. 

"She'd  better  not,  sir,"  said  Martin; 
"it  excites  her  too  much." 

"That's  all  right,  Martin;  I'm  sure  that 


J48  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

it  will  only  give  her  pleasure  to  play,  as  it 
will  us  to  hear  her." 

Martin  shook  her  head  ruefully,  and 
Mrs.  Monroe  sat  down  at  the  piano.  At 
first  she  played  quietly  enough,  hut  with 
out  any  expression;  then  she  raised  her 
fists  and  hanged  up  and  down  the  keys 
so  that  we  all  jumped  from  our  chairs. 
Martin  flew  to  the  side  of  the  poor  woman 
and  spoke  a  few  decided  words  in  her 
ear,  which  had  the  effect  of  stopping  her; 
then,  turning  to  Mr.  Monroe,  she  said: 

"I  heg  that  you  will  let  me  take  Mrs. 
Monroe  to  her  room,  sir;  she  is  very  much 
excited." 

"Xot  at  all,"  said  her  hushaml.  "She'll 
he  perfectly  quiet  in  a  moment,  and  will 
enjoy  coming  to  the  dinner-tahle;  won't 
you,  my  dear?"  turning  to  his  wife,  who 
only  smiled  amusedly  at  him.  "I  told 
you  so.  It  will  he  a  great  pleasure  to  her 
and  to  us  also." 

Dinner  was  just  then  announced,  and 
Colonel  Barton  stepped  politely  forward 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy,    '-^ 

and  oil'ered  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Monroe.  Evi 
dently  he  did  not  please  her,  for  she  raised 
her  hand  and  pushed  him  aside  with  such 
force  that  he  almost  fell  into  the  lire.  He 
was  a  dignified  man,  and  did  not  enjoy 
this  treatment  at  all.  Then  Martin  took 
her  hy  the  hand  and  led  her  in,  while  Mr. 
Monroe  held  open  the  door  through  which 
we  passed  in  single  file. 

At  this  dinner-party  I  snatched  a  fear 
ful  jov.  Mrs.  Monroe  sat  at  the  right 
hand  of  her  husband,  and  almost  directly 
opposite  me,  and  Martin  sat  next  to  her. 
At  the  foot  of  the  table  sat  Aunt  Maria. 
1  tried  to  get  the  seat  next  to  her,  and  al 
most  upset  (  'olonel  Barton  in  doing  so: 
he  said  that  two  ladies  should  not 
sit  together,  and  got  in  ahead  of 
me.  Mr.  Monroe  helped  his  wife 
bountifully  to  everything,  and  she  ate  as 
heartilv  as  though  she  had  not  just  eaten 
a  pound  or  so  of  bonbons. 

All  went  quietly  for  a  time,  and  we  were 
ell  on  with  the  roast,  when  Mrs.  Monroe 


!5°  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

glared  angrily  at  the  waitress.  "Take 
your  eyes  off  me,"  she  shouted,  shying  a 
plate  at  her  head. 

The  frightened  girl  dodged  the  missile 
and  dropped  the  tray  of  dishes  with  a 
crash.  This  added  to  Mrs.  Monroe's  ex 
citement.  In  a  moment  she  was  on  her 
feet,  and  the  room  was  filled  with  flying 
crockery.  The  rib-roast  took  Colonel  Bar 
ton  on  his  ample  shirt-front;  the  Leans 
were  emptied  in  Aunt  Maria's  lap,  while 
I  only  escaped  the  mashed  potatoes  by 
dodging  under  the  table.  The  row  upon 
the  Stanislaus  was  nothing  in  comparison. 
As  a  finale,  the  excited  woman  pulled  the 
cloth  from  the  table.  Every  dish  went 
clattering  upon  the  floor;  and  then,  with  a 
heavy  mahogany  chair  raised  over  her 
head,  she  defied  any  one  to  touch  her. 

I  crouched  trembling  under  the  table, 
but  managed  to  peep  out  upon  the  scene 
of  battle  through  a  small  rent  in  the  cloth. 
Mr.  Monroe  stood  pale  and  very  much 
agitated;  Colonel  Barton  was  concealed 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   '51 

behind  the  door,  and  the  waitress  had 
escaped  to  the  pantry,  while  Aunt  Maria 
sat  calmly  with  her  napkin  over  her 
head.  Pale,  with  face  set,  Martin  ap 
proached  the  infuriated  giantess,  and 
jerking  the  chair  from  her  hands,  snapped 
the  awful  bracelets  on  her  wrists  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.  The  unhappy 
woman,  thoroughly  cowed,  permitted  Mar 
tin  to  lead  her  from  the  room.  As  the 
door  closed  behind  them,  I  crawled  out 
from  my  hiding  place,  while  Colonel  Bar 
ton  came  cautiously  out  from  behind  the 
door.  Aunt  .Maria  took  the  napkin  from 
her  head  and  spread  it  over  her  lap.  Mr. 
Monroe  said  that  lie  did  not  care  for  any 
more  dinner,  but  would  go  to  the  library 
if  we  would  excuse  him.  1  noticed  that 
his  voice  shook  slightly,  and  that  there 
were  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  left  the  room. 
Colonel  Barton  said  that  lie  had  only 
eaten  enough  to  give  him  an  appetite,  and 
that  he  would  like  to  finish  his  dinner,  if 
there  was  no  objection;  but  possibly  there 


J52  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

was  no  dinner  either,  after  what  had  hap 
pened.  The  waitress  was  called,  and  came 
tremhling  and  holding  her  arm  to  her 
head  as  though  to  ward  off  a  "blow.  After 
seeing  that  Colonel  Barton  was  provided 
for,  Aunt  Maria,  who  was  more  agitated 
than  she  admitted,  took  me  hy  the  hand 
and  excused  herself.  I  saw  the  forerun 
ners  of  a  lovely  dessert  on  the  sideboard 
and  sighed;  as  we  passed  it,  I  managed 
to  snatch  a  handful  of  cakes. 

"Is  Mrs.  Monroe  coming  to  dinner  every 
day?"  I  asked,  safe  inside  of  Aunt  Maria's 
room. 

"Xo;  poor  woman,  it  will  be  a  long  time 
before  she  comes  in  this  part  of  the  house 
again." 

''Well,  I'm  very  glad,"  said  I,  "for  I 
never,  in  all  my  horn-days,  saw  a  lady 
with  such  table  manners." 


XII. 

TIIK  day  afUT  this  memorable  dinner 
party,  I  was  sent  for  to  come  home,  and 
1  was  ^lad  to  go.  I  loved  to  be  with  my 
aunt,  but  the  old  place  with  its  new  ten 
ants  was  not  what  it  had  been.  It  was 
exciting,  I  admit,  but  it  was  altogether 
too  exciting  for  my  taste.  I  was  not  asked 
to  say  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Monroe,  as  it  was 
not  considered  wise  for  any  one  but  Mar- 
lin  tn  set1  her  for  a  while  yet.  I  was  taken 
to  the  library  to  say  good-bye  to  Mr.  Mon- 
i  He  and  to  Colonel  Barton,  who  spent. 
most  of  the  morning  playing  backgammon 
with  him.  Mr.  Monroe  had  been  quite 
restored  to  his  usual  calm  by  a  night's 
rest,  and  he  patted  me  on  the  cheek  and 
filled  mv  pockets  with  the  bonbons  he 
always  kept  on  hand  for  "the  baby." 
Colonel  Hart  on  took  my  warm  hand  in  his 
cold,  thin  fingers,  and  looking  intenfly  at 
me,  said: 

'53 


'54  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"Little  pitchers  have  big  ears,  and  they 
also  have  big  eyes  and  big  mouths;  but 
they  had  better  not  let  their  big  mouths 
tell  all  that  their  big  ears  hear  or  their  big 
eyes  see." 

"Big  jugs  have  big  ears  and  big  eyes 
and  big  mouths,  too,"  said  I,  with  mean 
ing  as  I  pulled  my  hand  away,  for  his 
fingers  gave  me  a  chill.  I  didn't  like 
Colonel  Barton,  and  I  objected  to  his  de 
scription  of  my  features.  lie  scowled,  but 
Mr.  Monroe  laughed  and  gave  me  more 
bonbons. 

As  soon  as  we  were  outside  the  house 
I  said  to  my  aunt:  "Well,  Aunt  Maria,  I 
think  Colonel  Barton  is  just  as  funny  as 
Mrs.  Monroe." 

"  Tunny'  is  hardly  the  word  I  should 
use  to  describe  Colonel  Barton;  uncanny 
would  be  better,"  she  answered. 

"What's  uncanny?"  I  asked,  prancing 
all  over  the  sidewalk,  for  I  never  walked 
decently  and  in  order. 

"It's  what  Colonel  Barton  is,"  she  re 
plied. 


I.TTTI.K    PITCHERS    JIAVK    BIG    EARS. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    '57 

I  soon  forgot  about  Colonel  Barton, 
and  even  .Mrs.  Monroe,  in  my  excitement 
about  the  train  and  traveling  back  to  Xew 
York  alone.  Tin.-  conductor  was  the  same 
one  I  had  gone  to  Birdlington  with,  and 
I  greeted  him  with  an  eil'usive  "Hello!" 
Aunt  Maria  frowned  upon  my  boisterous, 
ness,  but  the  conductor  laughed  and  said: 
"She's  all  right ;  I  like  girls  to  have  spirit." 

"Then  yon  should  like  her  extra  well," 
-aid  Aunt  Maria,  aside;  "for  she  has 
'spirit'  enough  for  two." 

Sandv  met  me  when  the  train  arrived  in 
New  York',  and,  as  it  was  late  in  the 
afternoon,  we  went  straight  to  our  Long 
Island  home. 

Kvery  one  seemed  glad  to  see  me; 
though  now,  when  I  look  back,  I  wonder 
that  thev  did  not  all  desert  the  house  on 
mv  return.  I  was  allowed  to  have  supper 
in  the  big  dining-room  with  the  family, 
which  was  a  new  honor;  but  then  I  was 
now  nearly  ten  years  old. 

"Well,   Nell,"  said   mv   father   from   the 


J58  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

head  of  the  table,  "what  have  you  learned 
while  you've  been  gone?" 

"I've  learned  to  be  an  Episcopalian,  a 
Democrat,  and  to  drink  strong  coffee/'  I 
replied,  in  my  shrillest  voice,  while  every 
one  stared  amazed. 

"Then  you  had  better  go  back  to  your 
Aunt  Maria,''  said  my  father,  who  was 
neither  an  Episcopalian  nor  a  Democrat, 
and* preferred  tea  with  his  morning  toast. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  back.  I  want  to 
stay  with  you,''  I  cried;  and,  jumping 
from  my  chair  and  upsetting  my  glass  of 
milk,  I  rushed  to  my  father  and  threw  un 
arms  around  his  neck.  I  didn't  mean  to 
hurt  his  feelings,  but  he  had  asked  me  a 
question,  and  I  had  replied  according  to 
my  lights.  I  am  sure  now  that  there  was 
a  twinkle  in  his  gray  eyes  when  I  sprang 
my  unexpected  answer  upon  him;  only  I 
wasn't  looking  for  it. 

On  the  day  after  my  arrival  home,  my 
father  called  me  into  his  study  and  told 
me  that  we  were  going  to  move;  the  cares 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   J59 

of  a  large  school  were  more  than  his 
health  could  hear,  and  he  was  going  to 
live  in  a  little  Connecticut  village  with 
no  one  Itut  his  o\vn  family  in  the  lionse. 
I  little  realized  what  this  meant  to  him. 
For  years  he  had  heen  carrying  a  harden 
heavier  than  he  could  bear,  for  he  was  no 
business  man,  and  what  he  loved  most  in 
the  world  after  his  wife  and  children  was 
his  books  and  writing.  He  had  decided 
to  sell  the  school,  "good-will  and  fixtures," 
and  return  to  the  ministry.  The  outlook 
was  not  big  with  riches,  and  we  were  a 
large  family;  but  it  meant  freedom  from  a 
thousand  cares  and  more  leisure  for  read 
ing.  Though  fond  of  The  Hall,  still,  like 
most  children,  I  was  eager  for  a  change. 
The  mere  fact  of  moving  meant  nothing 
to  me  beyond  a  railway  journey,  and  T  was 
anxious  to  see  the  new  place.  I  parted 
with  some  of  the  pupils  of  the  school  sor 
rowfully,  and  most  of  them  were  not 
ashamed  to  shed  tears  when  their  turn 
came  to  sav  good-bye  to  the  teachers  and 


160  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

fellow-pupils  they  had  learned  to  love. 
At  last  they  were  all  gone,  and  the  place 
was  lonely  enough. 

After  they  had  left  there  was  an  auc 
tion-sale — a  "vendue,"  the  auctioneer 
called  it;  and  this  I  thought  a  very  thrill 
ing  incident.  A  red  flag  was  fastened  at 
the  big  gate,  and  the  goods  to  be  sold  were 
piled  up  in  the  courtyard.  A  crowd 
of  villagers  drifted  in,  some  to  buy,  but 
more  out  of  curiosity.  There  were  dealers 
in  second-hand  furniture,  and  old  Irish 
women  in  plaid  shawls  with  children  at 
their  heels.  My  mother  kept  out  of  the 
way,  but  my  father  was  obliged  to  be  on 
hand  more  or  less  to  look  after  his  inter 
ests.  Annie,  the  nurse,  kept  my  small 
brothers  and  sisters  in  the  nursery,  and 
would  have  kept  me  a  prisoner  also;  but  I 
gave  her  the  slip,  and  stood  conspicuously 
in  the  crowd  to  see  all  that  was  to  be  seen 
and  hear  all  that  was  to  be  heard. 

The  auctioneer  was  a  thick-set,  little 
man,  with  a  wisp  of  hair  on  his  chin.  He 


Autobiography  ot  a  Tomboy.   I(jl 

O         I  i 

had  sharp  eyes  and  a  snub-nose.  "When 
he  mounted  his  stand  and  began  to  auc 
tion  oil'  the  goods,  I  thought  he  was  the 
\vittiest  man  I  had  ever  heard  speak.  All 
his  time-honored  jokes  were  new  to  me, 
and  I  laughed  witli  a  heartiness  that  must 
have  llattered  him.  I  remember  his  hold 
ing  up  a  lantern,  and  saying:  "This,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  is  the  lantern  that  was 
carried  by  Diogenes  when  he  went  in 
seaivli  of  an  honest  man.  ]t  would  take 
a  bigger  lantern  than  the  one  I  have  in 
mv  hand  to  find  an  honest  man  in  this 
crowd."  Then  everybody  roared  with 
laughter,  and  I  clapped  my  hands  with 
glee.  "Who  says  ten  dollars  for  Diog- 
enes's  lantern  ?"  he  added. 

\o  one  said  it.  Then  there  was  a 
pause. 

"Who    says    live   dollars? — no    price    at 


162  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"Well,  this  is  the  meanest  crowd  I  ever 
struck.  Perhaps  you  think  there  ain't  no 
honest  man  to  find  in  this  town.  "Well,  I 
guess  you're  ahout  right.  I  s'pose  you 
don't  want  no  lantern;  you'd  rather  pur 
sue  your  evil  ways  in  darkness.  Will  you 
give  fifty  cents?"  They  wouldn't.  '''Ten 
cents?"  Xo  bidders.  "Take  it  for  five, 
if  yer  mean  enough." 

An  old  Irishman  stepped  up  and 
counted  out  five  coppers. 

"I  thought  there'd  he  some  of  you 
who'd  take  it  fer  a  gift." 

The  Irishman  grinned  and  fell  back  to 
his  place,  and  the  crowd  laughed. 

Then  an  old  desk  was  held  up.  After 
much  coaxing,  ten  dollars  was  bid. 

''Going  at  ten — this  beautiful  desk;  the 
identical  one  on  which  Washington  wrote 
the  Declaration  of  Independence; — going 
at  ten  dollars." 

"Twenty!"  I  shouted,  and  hid  behind 
one  of  the  plaid  shawls.  The  auctioneer's 
face  brightened. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   l63 

"Xow,  we  have  some  one  who  knows  a 
good  thing.  Am  1  bid  any  more?  Only 
twenty  dollars  for  this  beautiful  historical 
piece  of  furniture." 

"Thirty."  I  squeaked  from  my  hiding- 
place. 

''Going  at  thirty — make  it  forty!  Going 
at  thirty!  Any  more  bids?  Going — 
going — gone!"  and  down  came  his  ham 
mer.  Then  to  his  clerk:  "Get  the  name 
of  the  purchaser,  and  ask  for  a  deposit.'' 
The  clerk  came  towards  the  direction  of 
the  voice.  I  had  not  been  seen  by  the 
auctioneer,  only  heard.  When  I  saw  the 
man  approaching  with  card  and  pencil  in 
his  hand  I  was  frightened  enough.  Some 
people  standing  near  me  knew  that  I  was 
the  culprit,  and  when  the  clerk  couldn't 
find  the  person  who  had  bid,  they  chaffed 
him  unmercifully.  The  auctioneer  was 
furious,  and  threatened  to  stop  the  sale. 
I  broke  loose  from  the  protection  of  the 
plaid  shawl,  and  ran  full  tilt  across  the 
court.  The  auctioneer  saw  me,  and  at 
once  suspected  the  truth. 


l64  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"It  was  that  tomboy,  was  it?''  and  he 
regarded  my  flying  figure  with  stern  con 
tempt.  1  did  not  venture  into  the  court 
yard  again  while  the  sale  was  on;  nor  did 
I  care  to,  as  I  wouldn't  have  had  another 
chance  for  fun,  now  that  I  was  discovered. 

In  a  few  days  after  the  sale  we  were 
packed  and  ready  for  our  new  home. 
Cousin  Frances  had  gone  on  ahead  with  a 
Levy  of  the  children,  while  I  was  left  to 
go  with  my  father  and  mother  and  the 
baby.  Cousin  Frances  was  not  willing  to 
take  the  responsibility  of  my  care.  Annie 
was  the  only  one  of  the  servants  who  went 
with  us.  She  had  not  intended  to  go, 
and  she  had  promised  a  neighbor's  gar 
dener  that  she  would  marry  him  as  soon 
as  we  were  gone.  When  she  realized  how 
much  my  mother  and  the  baby  needed  her, 
she  told  the  gardener  that  he  would  have 
to  wait  for  a  year.  lie  protested,  but  she 
was  firm  and  he  waited.  Dear,  good 
Annie!  For  fourteen  years,  all  told,  she 
had  "minded"  us  children.  The  patient 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    l()5 

gardener,  1  am  happy  to  say,  waited  as  he 
was  bid,  ami  lie  has  made  her  a  good  hus 
band  and  given  her  a  comfortable  home. 
She  has  no  children  of  her  own,  but  she 
served  a  long  apprenticeship  with  the 
children  of  others  whom  she  loved  as  well 
as  though  they  had  been  ilesh  of  her  flesh 
and  bone  of  her  hone. 

Aunt  Maria  sent  Diana  to  (Hen  Centre, 
our  new  home,  as  she  had  no  use  for  her 
while  -Mi'.  Monroe  occupied  her  house,  as 
he  insisted  upon  her  staying  there  most  of 
the  time.  We  clung  to  Diana,  for  ser 
vants  were  hard  to  get  in  that  fanning 
country;  but  she  made  our  lives  miserable 
by  her  cantankerous  ways. 

(lien  Centre  was  not  much  of  a  village, 
but  it  was  a  very  pretty  part  of  the  coun 
try,  all  hill  and  dale,  and  meadow  and 
wood.  The  village1  consisted  of  one  store, 
which  was  also  the  post-ollice;  the  church, 
who-H'  pulpit  niv  father  was  to  (ill,  and 
three  or  four  houses  at  the  cross-roads. 
"The  Centre"  it  was  called,  and  a  few 


166  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

houses  straggling  down  the  one  long 
street.  The  church  was  a  typical  New 
England  "meeting-house/'  built  of  wood 
painted  white,  with  a  graceful  spire  that 
could  be  seen  for  miles  around. 

The  parsonage,  when  we  took  posses 
sion,  was  not  very  attractive.  It  had  been 
lived  in  by  too  many  people,  and  had  not 
been  a  home  to  any  of  them.  The  house 
was  staring  white  and  shutterless;  but 
after  my  father  had  lived  in  it  a  short 
time,  he  induced  the  people  to  put  up  neat 
green  shutters,  which  added  very  much  to 
its  appearance  and  to  our  comfort.  The 
furniture  was  very  plain.  There  were  only 
two  pictures  on  the  prim  parlor-walls — 
one,  "Little  Samuel,"  with  lovely  curls 
down  his  back,  kneeling  with  his  hands 
clasped  in  prayer;  the  other,  "The  Death 
bed  of  Wesley,"  an  ambitious  mezzotint 
in  a  heavy  mahogany  frame.  I  used  to 
regard  the  latter  with  much  curiosity.  I 
wondered  why  so  many  people  happened 
to  be  around  when  the  good  man  died, 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    l67 

and  whether  he  would  not  have  preferred 
a  less  crowded  room  (o  breathe  his  last  in. 
[  also  wondered  whether,  like  Captain 
K  idd,  he  had  sung: 

''Come,  all  ye  young  and  old,  see  me  die,  see 

ins1  die ! 
Come,  all  ye  young  and  old,  see  me  die  !" 

But  then  I  argued  that  such  a  man  as 
AYesley  would  hardly  have  quoted  the 
words  of  a  famous  pirate  chief. 

I  loved  the  good  people  of  (lieu  Cen 
tre;  and.  though  the  tuemhers  of  the 
ehureh,  as  a  whole,  could  hardly  have 
been  called  broad-minded,  their  intentions 
were  of  the  best.  My  father,  who  loved 
music  and  considered  it  an  important  part 
of  the  church  service,  had  a  terrible  strug 
gle  to  get  a  melodeon  into  the  church.  TTp 
to  his  time  the  only  musical  instrument 
allowed  within  its  doors  was  a  tuning- 
fork.  All  the  young  people  in  the  con 
gregation  were  on  my  father's  side  in  the 
struggle,  but  their  elders  fought  and 


168  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

prayed  against  the  "big  fiddle,"  as  they 
called  it.  The  melodeon,  however,  won 
the  day,  and  some  of  the  worthy  deacons 
did  not  hesitate  to  say  that  the  devil  had 
taken  possession  of  the  church.  A  young 
lady  was  found  to  play  the  new  instru 
ment,  and  my  father  trained  the  choir. 
The  consequence  was  that  the  services 
were  much  more  interesting  than  they  had 
ever  been  before,  and  the  young  people, 
for  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  enjoyed 
going  to  church. 

IVIy  father's  study  was  in  the  basement 
of  the  church.  It  was  a  big  room,  but  the 
books  that  he-brought  with  him  from  The 
Hall  nearly  filled  its  walls.  The  thing 
that  I  best  remember  about  this  room 
was  a  mouse,  which  was  so  tame  that  it 
ran  over  my  father's  table  as  he  Avrote, 
and  would  even  run  along  his  sleeve  and 
cat  out  of  his  hand.  A  church-mouse  is 
proverbially  poor;  but  this  one  was  an  ex 
ception,  for  it  was  as  fat  as  a  seal. 

There  was  a  young  lady  in  the  congre- 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   l6() 

•ration  who  took  a  great  fancy  to  my 
mother,  and  was  often  at  the  parsonage. 
She  never  came  too  often  to  please  me, 
for  she  usually  rode  over  on  horseback, 
and  after  she  was  well  in  the  house  I 
would  untie  the  horse  and  climb  on  his 
back  for  a  canter  up  the  road.  One  day 
I  was  jogging  along,  suspecting'  no  harm, 
when  a  horrid  little  boy  came  up  behind 
and  struck  the  horse  across  his  legs  with 
the  paling  of  a  fence.  You  know  how 
John  (Jilpin  rode  through  merry  Isling 
ton — well,  that  is  the  way  I  rode  through 
the  single  street  of  that  quiet  village.  If 
I  had  worn  a  hat  and  wig,  they  would 
have  met  the  fate  of  Gil  pin's.  Fortunate 
ly  for  me,  I  had  left  my  hat  at  home,  and 
mv  hair  lay  close  to  my  head.  At  the  first 
blow  of  the  stick  the  horse  sprang  for 
ward  with  a  bound  that  set  me  somewhere 
mi  his  neck,  and  this  I  embraced  with 
both  mv  arms.  l"p  and  down,  over  hill 
and  dale,  we  went.  'People  (lew  to  their 
windows  and  doors,  thinking  either  that 


'7°  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

it  was  a  runaway  or  that  some  one  was 
going  for  the  doctor  at  a  pace  that  even 
such  urgency  could  not  legalize.  After  a 
mile  or  so,  the  horse,  which  was  really 
"gentle  in  all  harness  and  fit  for  a  lady  to 
drive/'  slackened  his  pace,  and  witli  the 
air  of  one  who  rode  as  I  had  been  riding 
entirely  from  choice,  I  cantered  hack  to 
the  parsonage.  Every  one  was  in  a  state 
of  excitement,  and  though  my  knees  shook 
and  I  felt  a  little  sore,  I  put  on  a  hold 
front,  and  exclaimed:  "What's  the  mat 
ter?  Can't  a  person  take  a  little  canter 
without  every  one  getting  scared  to 
death?" 

But  I  was  very  glad  when  I  was  safely 
off  the  horse's  hack  again,  and  vowed  to 
get  even  with  that  hoy.  And  I  kept  my 
vow.  The  next  time  I  saw  him,  I  "'sicked" 
our  old  dog  on  him,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
seek  refuge  in  a  tree.  "Watch  him,  Bruce!" 
said  L,  and  the  dog  did  his  duty  while  I 
went  off  to  play  in  the  woods  with  my  sis 
ters.  When  we  returned  some  hours  later, 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   '?' 

Bruce  was  still  on  guard,  and  the  hoy  still 
at  the  top  of  the  tree.  He  said  that  he 
liked  it  ii}>  there.  If  you  had  seen  the 
way  he  clambered  down  when  I  called  the 
dog  o!T,  you  would  have  known,  as  I  did, 
that  he  was  just  Mulling,  lie  had  learned 
a  good  lesson,  though — to  beware  of  tom 
boys. 


XIII. 

WE  were  very  poor,  but  very  happy,  in 
those  Glen  Kidge  clays.  At  least,  we  chil 
dren  were  happy;  but  I  dare  say  that  our 
parents  had  many  moments  of  unhappi- 
ness.  While  the  family  was  comparatively 
small,  my  father's  income  was  less  than 
comparatively  small.  Five  hundred  dol 
lars  a  year,  with  a  parsonage  thrown  in, 
was  all  that  he  had;  and,  in  the  language 
of  the  poet,  "we  were  seven," — not  count 
ing  our  parents  a)id  a  middle-aged  rela 
tive  whom  we  called  "Cousin  Frances." 

To  eke  out  the  salary  and  the  rent, 
there  were  "donation  parties,"  occasions 
upon  which  the  parishioners  brought  the 
produce  of  their  farms  and  laid  them,  as 
it  were,  at  our  feet.  I  remember  old  Dea 
con  Halsey  getting  up  in  church  the  Sun 
day  before  one  of  these  parties,  and  telling 
the  people  to  give  liberally.  "Anything 
172 


Autobiography  of" a  Tomboy.   T^3 

\vill  be  welcome,"  lie  added,  with  the  best 
intentions;  but  1  noticed  the  Mush  of  mor 
tification  that  spread  over  my  father's 
cheeks  at  this  tactless  way  of  putting  it. 
I  hope  that  better  salaries  have  taken  the 
place  of  "donation  parties"  by  this  time; 
for  they  were  a  tax  upon  the  giver  and  a 
humiliation  to  the  receiver.  We  chil 
dren  enjoyed  them  almost  as  much  as  we 
did  Christmas,  and  shouted  with  joy  every 
time  a  farmer  brought  in  a  big  fat  turkey, 
or  a  barrel  of  apples,  or  his  wife  laid  a 
basket  of  doughnuts  or  a  jar  of  preserves 
on  the  dining-room  table.  Sometimes 
there  were  donations  of  money,  which 
would  have  been  better  added  to  the 
clergyman's  salarv  than  handed  in  as  a 
graluitv.  As  little  as  our  parents  liked 
(his  way  of  eking  out  their  income,  they 
could  hardly  have  made  ends  meet  with 
out  it.  We  children  had  healthy  appetites 
and  a  genius  for  wearing  out  our  clothes. 
Fortunately,  we  were  not  disturbed  by  the 
demands  of  fashion.  We  wore  what  we 


J74  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

had  till  it  could  be  worn  no  longer.  The 
clothes  of  one  were  handed  down  to  the 
next  younger,  who  was  rather  proud  to 
inherit  the  garments  of  an  elder,  regard 
less  of  their  age,  color,  or  previous  con 
dition  of  servitude. 

Apples,  bread,  and  molasses  entered 
largely  into  our  bill  of  fare,  and  we  never 
tired  of  either.  Unless  you  have  sat  on  a 
stone  fence  and  beaten  russet-apples  soft 
on  its  hard  top,  you  have  missed  one  of  the 
greatest  delicacies  that  the  orchard  gives. 
The  epicure  who  goes  from  Delmonico's  to 
Sherry's,  or  from  the  Waldorf-Astoria  to 
the  Martin,  seeking  novelties  for  the  grat 
ification  of  his  palate,  can  never  know  the 
delight  that  we  children  experienced  as 
we  tramped  through  the  orchard  sampling 
the  apples  of  every  tree.  Not  only  did  we 
revel  in  the  fruit  in  its  natural  state,  but 
we  reveled  in  it  when  roasted  and  eaten 
with  cream — the  latter  a  luxury  that  we 
had  in  abundance.  Our  method  of  roast 
ing  was  primitive  but  effectual.  It  was  to 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   l~1 

the  apple  what  the  ])lank  is  to  the  shad. 
We  tied  a  half  do/en  apples  by  their  steins 
and  fastened  the  strings  to  the  mantel 
shelf,  so  that  they  hung  within  a  few 
inches  of  a  roaring  wood-fire;  then  we 
twisted  the  strings,  which  wound  and  un 
wound,  baking  the  apple?  evenly  on  all 
sides.  How  they  sputted  and  spurted!  and 
how  excited  we  were  as  we  held  our  plates 
under  them  to  catch  the  juice  that  hurst 
from  their  sides!  Sandy  was  the  champion 
(ater  of  baked  apples.  He  had  them  at 
every  meal,  and  we  were  obliged  to  hurry 
to  !_ret  our  --hare.  I  remember  his  telling 
mv  father,  with  great  earnestness,  that  he 
believed  that  F.ve  tempted  Adam  with  a 
baked  apple — '"which,"  he  added,  "was 
Inking  a  mean  advantage,  for  no  man 
could  re.-ist  such  a  temptation." 

In  the  simplicity  of  our  food  lav  one  of 
the  sources  of  our  splendid  health.  We 
never  had  to  call  in  a  doctor.  There  was 
a  young  doctor  in  the  place,  but  his  calls 
were  entirely  social.  I  liked  him  very 


T78  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

much,,  for  he  would  let  me  drive  around 
with  him  and  hold  his  horse  while  he 
made  his  professional  calls  upon  the  farm 
ers'  wives  and  children.  Once  he  staid  so 
long  at  a  house  that  I  took  advantage  of 
the  opportunity  to  take  a  little  drive  on 
my  own  account.  I  went  gayly  up  the 
road,  and  when  I  thought  that  I  had  gone 
far  enough,  I  attempted  to  turn  around 
and  go  back.  I  took  the  very  narrowest 
place  in  the  road  to  turn  around  in.  The 
doctor's  gig  was  not  a  cut-under,  and  I 
was  not  an  expert  at  turning.  The  ex 
pected  happened.  At  first  the  gig-body 
caught  on  the  wheels,  and  I  couldn't  get 
it  down.  The  horse  stood  still,  so  I  seized 
the  whip  and  gave  him  a  gentle  cut  across 
the  withers.  I  had  not  told  him  that  I 
was  going  to  do  this,  so  he  was  taken  by 
surprise  and  started  forward.  As  he  was 
turning, — according  to  previous  instruc 
tions, — this  brought  his  head  almost  into 
my  lap.  To  get  him  out  I  pulled  violently 
upon  the  other  rein.  Having  a  tender 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   '"9 

nioutli  he  came  around  as  far  the  other 
way,  and  with  such  force  that  the  gig 
pitched  over  on  its  side,  with  me  under  it. 
Fortunately,  the  horse  was  gentle,  and  in 
stead  of  running  away  hegan  to  nibble  at 
the  grass  along  the  road.  I  scrambled  out, 
and  was  glad  to  see  that  nothing  was 
broken. 

I  was  not,  however,  glad  to  see  the  doc 
tor,  who  at  this  critical  moment  came 
panting  up  the  bill.  When  be  saw  that 
I  was  not  hurt,  be  hegan  to  scold.  I  ex 
plained  that  it  was  not  my  fault;  indeed, 
if  there  was  any  one  to  blame  it  was  he 
for  not  having  a  cut-under  gig.  ''"You're 
a  daughter  of  Kve,  sure  enough,"  said  he; 
"always  ready  to  throw  the  blame  on  the 
man."  I'.y  this  time  a  farmer  had  crossed 
From  a  neighboring  field,  and  the  gig  was 
righted.  It  had  been  a  very  neat  accident; 
for  nothing  was  hurt,  except  mv  feelings 
at  having  the  blame  thrown  on  me,  when 
it  was  all  the  fault  of  the  gig's  not  being 
a  cut-under. 


l8°  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

There  was  a  man  living  near  Glen- 
Ridgc,  known  to  his  neighbors  as  Long 
Tom,  who  was  something  of  a  wag.  His 
sayings  and  doings  were  freely  discussed 
among  the  people,  and  I  had  a  great  curi 
osity  to  see  him.  I  heard  one  day  that  he 
was  at  the  village  store,  so  I  boldly 
walked  up  there  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
and  hearing  him.  When  I  entered  the 
store  there  were  a  lot  of  men  sitting 
around  the  stove  "swapping  stories,"  and 
among  them  I  noticed  a  new  comer;  thai 
is,  one  new  to  me.  He  was  tall  and  lank, 
and  looked  to  me  rather  a  solemn  person 
age,  and  not  at  all  my  idea  of  a  wag. 
Being  in  doubt,  I  walked  up  to  him,  and 
in  a  loud  voice  said:  "Are  you  Long 
Tom?"  He  looked  down  upon  me,  and 
rubbing  his  bristling  chin  with  his  long 
fingers,  replied  witli  a  question:  "'Are  you 
the  parson's  little  girl?"  Upon  my 
acknowledging  the  charge,  he  said:  "'Well, 
then  go  home  and  get  your  pa  to  help 
you  look  for  your  manners;  for  I  guess 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomjpoy,    lSl 

they're  lust."  At  this  all  the  men  aruimd 
the  stove  hurst  into  shouts  of  laughter, 
and  I  jx'tiiv.l  in  cont'iision.  I  learned  after 
wards  thai  the  name  Long  Tom  was  one 
that  was  applied  to  him  behind  his  hack, 
and  never  to  his  face,  as  he  objected  to  it; 
For,  like  most  jokers,  he  resented  heing 
joked  with. 

We  heeame  good  friends  after  this,  and 
many  were  the  balls  of  pop-corn  that  he 
treated  me  to.  ll  was  Loin;'  Tom  who 
taught  me  to  shoot  at  a  mark  with  a  re 
volver — an  accomplishment  that  I  was 
very  proud  of.  lie  would  take  me  to  the 
oivhard  Farthest  from  the  house,  and  ?et 
up  a  row  i)F  apples  on  the  fence  for  me  to 
lire  at.  I  hit  the  fence  quite  often,  but 
I  never  hit  one  of  the  apples.  Then,  to 
-how  me  how  to  do  it.  Tmu  would  take 
the  "gun,"  as  lie  called  it,  and  bring  down 
an  apple  at  every  slmt.  One  day,t  excited 
by  his  brilliant  marksmanship.  1  took 
careful  aim  and  fired.  I  was  sure  that  I 
would  bring  down  an  apple,  but  I  didn't. 


182  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

I  brought  down  Squire  Kobbins'  brown 
pig  instead.  I  don't  know  which  screamed 
the  loudest,  the  wounded  pig  or  I.  I  think 
I  must  have,  as  I  had  more  to  scream  for. 
The  pig  had  only  itself  to  think  of,  but  I 
had  Squire  Eobbins  to  reckon  with.  I 
never  hesitated  in  such  circumstances.  I 
was  brought  up  on  that  old  song,  "Speak, 
and  let  the  worst  be  known;  speaking  may 
relieve  you/'  so  I  went  straight  to  Squire 
Eobbins-and  told  him  what  I  had  done. 

"You  shot  the  old  sow,  did  yer?"  said 
he,  severely.  "Is  she  dead  ?" 

"Xo,  sir;  you  wouldn't  think  she  was 
dead,  if  you  could  hear  her  squeal/'  I 
answered. 

"Wall,  if  she  ain't  dead,  'taint  no  killin' 
matter,"  said  he,  with  a  laugh;  and  so 
pleased  was  he  with  his  witticism  that  I 
was  let  off  without  even  a  scolding.  I  had 
learned  a  good  lesson,  however;  which 
was,  that  when  I  wanted  to  hit  a  mark, 
the  way  to  do  it  was  to  aim  at  something 
else. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   lS.> 

Although  I  was  little  more  than  ten 
years  old.  1  appreciated  the  fact  that  my 
father  was  carrying  a  pretty  heavy  load, 
and  I  determined  to  help  him  at  the  first 
opportunity.  I  told  him  one  day  that  I 
had  a  scheme  to  that  end,  and  that  I 
thought  I  would  be  a  doctor.  My  father 
being  a  numane  man  discouraged  this 
idea,  so  I  cast  about  me  for  another  pro 
fession.  At  about  this  time  a  copy  of  a  pe 
riodical,  popular  in  those  day-,  Tin'  I^nHc** 
licposilury,  fell  into  my  hands.  Its  very 
lir.-t  page  contained  a  steel  portrait  of  Miss 
Harriet  llosmer,  and  was  followed  by  a 
-Letch  of  the  career  of  that  sculptor.  I 
u'as  enchanted,  both  by  the  portrait  and 
the  biography.  The  former  represented 
her  with  short,  cnrlv  hair,  parted  on  tlm 
side,  a  turn-down  collar,  and  floating  tie. 
MY  mind  was  made  up  instantly.  I  too 
would  be  a  sculptor,  and  wear  short  hair, 
turn-down  collar  and  floating  tie.  T 
had  never  shown  auv  talent  for  sculpture, 
as  the  voting  Harriet  had  done;  but  then 


l84  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

that  was  no  obstacle.  Given  an  oppor 
tunity.,  why  should  I  not  develop  the  tal 
ent? 

The  first  step  was  to  get  a  studio,  the 
next  to  get  something  to  "sculp."  At  the 
back  of  our  house  was  a  flight  of  eight  or 
ten  steps,  under  which  was  a  very  good- 
sized  cubby-hole  lighted  by  a  small  win 
dow.  What  more  did  1  want  by  way  of 
a  studio?  And  as  for  the  tools  and  the 
marble  to  work  on,  1  found  an  old  chisel, 
and,  there  being  no  marble  at  hand,  I  se 
cured  half  a  dozen  bricks.  I  took  no  one 
into  my  confidence,  for  1  wanted  to  make 
my  statue  first,  and  then  unveil  it  in  the 
presence  of  my  admiring  family.  I  deter 
mined  to  make  a  portrait-bust  of  my 
father  as  a  beginning;  but, alas!  with  every 
blow  of  the  chisel  the  brick  crumbled  at 
my  feet,  and  my  efforts  to  become  a  sculp 
tor  ended  in  dust.  Who  knows  what  might 
have  happened,  if  I  had  been  able  to  find  a 
block  of  marble?  I  might  have  been  re 
sponsible  for  one  of  the  many  monstrosi- 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    l85 

ties  that  adorn  tin1  parks  of  Xe\v  York: 
for,  though  I  liad  no  tak'iit  foi1  llie  art, 
I  believe  I  had  as  nuieli  as  many  of  (hose 
whoso  work  has  been  exchanged  .('or  good 
money. 

It  was  just  about  ihis  time  that  the 
civil  war  broke  out. 

"Sumter  has  been  fired  upon,"  said  my 
father  in  an  excited  voice,  looking  up  from 
his  morning  paper. 

"Sumter  fired  upon?"  echoed  my  moth 
er,  turning  pale. 

"\\hos  Sumter;'''  1  asked  from  the  end 
of  l  he  table,  "and  why  did  they  fire  upon 
him!'"  .M v  elders  were  too  husv  discussing 
the  situation  lo  answer;  but  1  gleaned 
from  their  conversation  that  there  was 
going  to  be  a  war. 

"I'll  be  a  soldier!"  I  shouted  and 
dashed  out  of  the  room  to  inform  my  sis 
ters  of  my  new-born  resolution. 


I  XEVEK  became  a  soldier,  but  I  saw  a 
good  deal  of  the  effects  of  the  war  during 
the  next  four  years. 

As  I  have  intimated,,  my  father's  in 
come  was  not  equal  to  the  demands  upon 
it.  He  had  reentered  the  ministry  com 
paratively  late  in  life,  and  there  was  not 
much  chance  of  his  getting  a  prize  ap 
pointment.  Hearing  that  there  was  a 
good  opening  for  a  select  school  in  Yon- 
kers,  he  decided  to  return  to  his  old  pro 
fession  of  teaching;  not  a  boarding-school 
again,  but  a  small  day-school.  The  friend 
who  told  him  of  the  opening  must  have 
been  a  poet,  as  there  was  much  more  of 
imagination  than  of  fact  in  his  statements. 
My  father,  however,  was  a  man  of  works 
as  well  as  of  faith,  and  he  brought  his 
large  family  from  Glen  Ridge  and  set  up 
his  school  in  Yonkers.  He  was  not  known 
1 86 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    |S7 

iii  UK-  place,  but  unite  a  number  of  bovs 
and  girls  \vere  entered  for  the  first  term, 
though  not  enough  to  make  it  a  paying 
venture.  I  think  that  most  of  the  pupils 
were  recruited  from  his  own  family. 

We  children  did  not  care  much  for 
Yonkers  after  the  delights  of  (ili-n  Hidge. 
There  we  had  the  open  country  to  roam 
over,  while  in  Yonkers  we  wen.'  restricted 
to  a  fair-sixcd  garden,  or  yard,  as  it  was 
called,  which  was  augmented  by  a  strip 
of  reservoir-ground  passing  through  it. 
There  were  no  trees  for  us  to  climb  or  to 
rest  under  out  of  the  rays  of  the  summer 
sun.  Xor  was  the  house  very  attractive. 
It  stood  close  to  the  sidewalk,  and  had 
one  narrow  pia/xa,  uhicli  gave  us  a  little 
shade  on  hot  davs.  The  only  days  that  I 
can  remember  in  Yonkers  were  hot.  \\  e 
lived  there  for  at  least  a  yenr:  but  I  do 
not  remember  our  having  passed  a  winter 
there,  though  we  must  have  done  so. 

Diana  came  from  (Jlen  Ridge  with  us. 
While  we  were  ill  ad  to  have  her  as 


5^8  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

a  general  houseworker,  her  presence  in 
the  family  was  not  an  unmitigated  joy. 
She  could  cook  as  well  as  any  one  when 
she  wanted  to,  hut  you  could  never  count 
upon  her  distinguishing  herself  in  that 
line.  I  can  see  her  now,  as  she  looked 
when  she  arrived  from  (lien  Kidge,  we 
having  come  on  a  few  days  hefore.  We 
all  gathered  in  the  kitchen  io  welcome 
her.  There  she  sat  in  solemn  state.  Tied 
over  her  bandanna  was  a  poke-bonnet, 
with  t\vo  straight  black  feathers,  looking 
as  though  they  had  been  plucked  from  the 
tail  of  a  feather-duster.  Her  carpeted 
feet  were  spread  out  well  in  front  of  her, 
and  her  precious  hair-trunk  reposed  be 
side  her  chair. 

"Hello,  Diana,  we're  glad  to  see  you!" 
said  I,  speaking  for  the  assembled  chil 
dren. 

"Well,  I  ain't  glad  to  be  here,"  she  re 
plied,  looking  around  the  kitchen  with  a 
dance  of  scorn.  "A  basemc't-kitchen  for 


Autobiography  ot  a  Tomboy.    lSl> 

tin-  to  get  the  roomatiz  in,  an"  a  coal-range, 
;:n"  nil1  Yustoined  to  wood." 

"You've  got  a  nice,  high  and  dry  bed 
room,  up  under  the  eaves,"  said  1,  en 
couragingly. 

"I'd  like  to  know  how  I'm  goin'  to  gel 
Ihis  here  trunk  up  to  the  top  of  this  here 
house,"  she  grunted,  stroking  the  hair  of 
the  1  riink  the  wrong  way. 

"\\VI1  earrv  it  up  for  you,  Diana,"  I 
-aid.  eagerlv  grabbing  tlie  tiling  bv  one  of 
its  iron  handles. 

"Mere,  von;  let  go  of  that,"  she  shouted, 
jerking  it  away  from  me.  "I  ain't  agoin" 
to  let  anv  one  teeh  that  ti'iink  but  me:" 
and  down  she  sal  upon  it.  Finallv,  we 
made  a  compromise,  she  consenting  to  mv 
taking  one  end,  while  she  held  the  other. 
In  this  wav,  after  much  stumbling,  to  the 
great  ami^emeiit  of  my  sisters  and  broih- 
ers  who  followed  us,  we  landed  ihe  trunk 
safelv  in  Diana's  attic  bedroom.  After 
hanging  up  her  hound  and  shawl,  she 
locked  the  door  i if  her  room,  and  di'- 


J9°  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

sccnded  to  the  kingdom  where  she  reigned 
during  the  whole  time  of  our  residence  in 
Yonkers.  We  often  went  into  this  kitchen, 
for  we  got  a  great  deal  of  fun  out  of  Di 
ana;  hut  it  was,  after  all,  snatching  a 
fearful  joy,  for  we  never  knew  when  we 
should  he  chased  out  at  the  point  of  the 
poker.  \Ve  could  not,  however,  resist 
playing  jokes  on  the  poor  soul.  One  day 
I  dressed  myself  in  some  very  shahhy  old 
clothes,  pulling  my  hair  down  over  my 
ears,  pasted  court-plaster  over  my  teeth  to 
look  as  though  I  had  lost  some  of  them, 
tied  on  an  old  bonnet  that  I  found  in  the 
rag-hag,  smeared  some  black  on  my  face, 
and,  followed,  as  usual,  by  all  the  children, 
descended  from  the  garden  to  the  kitchen 
to  have  some  fun  with  Diana. 

''Please,  ma'am,'"  said  I,  in  as  deep  a 
voice  as  I  could  command^  "will  you 
give  a  poor  woman  a  bit  of  bread?''  Diana 
looked  at  me  rather  suspiciously,  and 
walked  over  to  the  bread-box,  muttering 
as  she  went. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   '93 

"Thankee,  lady,"  when  she  handed  me 
a  slice  of  bread  and  hutter;  "couldn't  ye 
nive  me  some  broken  pieces  to  take  home 
In  me  sick  hnshand  and  fatherless  chil 
dren  ?" 

This  slip  was  too  much  for  my  sisters, 
as  it  was  for  me.  I  could  hear  them  tit- 
ici'iuu'  as  I  myself  shook  with  suppressed 
laughter.  I  liana,  who  had  regarded  me 
with  suspicion  from  the  first,  now  broke 
into  fierce  denunciation. 

"You're  intopsicated,"  said  she,  with  in 
dignation,  "coiiiin'  round  here  disgracin' 
verself  hefo"  these  innercent  chilliin.  (Jo 
loii";  with  you!"  and,  seizing  the  kettle  of 
boiling  water  from  the  ran^e,  she  made 
after  me.  I  turned  iiniominiously  and  (letl 
up  the  stone  steps,  but,  alas!  I  had  not 
counted  on  niv  loiia'  skills.  Head  first  I 
tripped  over  them,  and  fell  Hat  upon  the 
path,  Ihaua  on  top  of  me.  fortunately 
she  let  LI'O  of  the  kettle  as  she  fell,  or  we 
should  lioth  h;i\r  been  liadlv  scalded.  As 
it  was.  I  was  prettv  well  scratched  by  the 


J94  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

gravel,  but  was  soon  on  my  feet  again.  In 
the  excitement  my  bonnet  had  come  off, 
and  my  hair  resumed  its  natural  condi 
tion.  Then  Diana  recognized  me.  Con 
tradicting  expressions  passed  across  her 
brown  face;  but,  deciding  bluff  to  be  the 
better  part,  she  said: 

"I  knowed  yer  all  the  time.  ISTo  'mount 
of  black  ain't  goin'  to  hide  them  freckles." 
And  she  walked  off  to  her  kitchen  with 
the  air  of  Becky  Sharp,  after  triumphing 
over  Lady  Bareacres. 

1  thought  of  a  dozen  replies  to  this 
sally,  but  not  until  it  was  too  late. 

One  of  my  most  vivid  recollections  of 
our  life  at  Yonkers  is  a  stroke  of  lightning. 
My  mother,  Cousin  Frances,  and  we  chil 
dren  were  sitting  peacefully  at  the  break 
fast  table,  to  which  my  father  had  not  yet 
descended,  when  such  a  deafening  noise  as 
I  hope  never  to  hear  again  burst  upon  our 
cars,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  dining- 
room  was  filled  with  a  smoke  so  dense  that 
we  could  not  see  each  other.  Being  of  a 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.    J95 

highly  imaginative  disposition,  I  thought 
that  the  end  of  the  world  had  come,  and 
immediately  threw  my  arms  around  my 
little  brother,  who  sat  next  to  me,  and 
prayed  to  have  my  sins  forgiven,  and 
qiiiekly,  as  there  \vas  apparently  no  time 
to  lose'.  As  the  smoke  cleared  away,  I 
sa\v  my  father,  whom  1  at  first  took  to  he 
St.  Peter,  standing  at  the  door  looking 
anxiously  around  the  room.  After  assur 
ing  himself  that  none  of  us  was  killed,  lie 
explained  to  the  frightened  family  that 
the  house  had  lieen  struck  by  lightning, 
but  had  not  been  set  on  tire.  The  smoke 
came  from  the  chimney,  which  had  been 
struck,  the  deadly  fluid  having  passed 
down  the  outside  of  (he  house  and  into  the 
ground. 

After  the  first  excitement  was  over,  1 
ran  down  to  the  kitchen  to  see  if  Diana 
was  safe,  only  to  come  hounding  hack  the 
stairs  with  the  news  that  I  could  not  find 
her. 

"Let's    look     in     the    garret,"    shouted 


J96  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

Marty,  jumping  from  her  chair;  and  to 
the  garret  we  flew.  There  sat  Diana  on 
the  floor  trying  to  gather  together  the  con 
tents  of  her  hair-trunk,  which  had  heen 
scattered  to  the  four  corners  of  the  attic. 
That  trunk  was  the  only  tiling  inside  the 
house  that  had  been  struck.  We  started 
to  help  Diana  pick  up  her  treasures,  hut 
she  would  not  let  us.  With  tears  running 
down  her  cheeks,  she  gathered  them  to 
gether  herself — those  precious  hits  of  rib- 
bon,  feathers,  artificial  flowers,  colored 
beads,  scraps  of  lace,  gayly  painted 
cards,  a  bottle  of  musk,  and  a  Bible  that 
she  could  not  read.  We  children  stood  by 
awed  into  silence,  and  looking  in  vain  for 
the  crown  that  I,  at  least,  believed  to  be 
somewhere  in  that  old  trunk.  Poor  Di 
ana!  This  exposure  of  her  treasures  was 
a  terrible  humiliation.  I  think  she  felt 
that  she  had  lost  much  of  her  mysterious 
hold  upon  us  by  the  demolition  of  that 
hair-covered  box.  To  be  sure,  she  had  it 
mended  and  the  treasures  restored;  but 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   T'^7 

ihcv  had   been  seen  by  profane  eyes,  and 
the  spell  was  broken. 

I  have  ;-aid  before,  in  the  course  of  this 
narrative,  that  I  had  a  very  quick  and,  at 
times,  violent  temper.  Usually  I  could 
control  it,  but  now  and  then  it  got  the 
better  of  me.  One  of  these  times  was  in 
Yonkers.  "We  children  were  sitting  on  our 
piazza  one  Mimmer  evening,  when  a  very 
nice-looking  boy  and  girl  came  along,  car- 
rying  a  pretty  little  dog  between  them. 
They  stopped  at  our  gate,  and  after  a  few 
whispered  words  came  up  to  the  piazza- 
steps.  We  noticed  that  their  faces  were 
tear-stained,  and  wondered  what  was  the 
matter.  The  bov  acted  as  spokesman,  the 
girl  being  too  full  for  utterance.  lie  cx- 
I'laini'd  that  some  one  had  j_nven  them 
the  little  do,ir,  but  that  his  mothei-  would 
not  let  them  keep  it.  We  were  greatly 
interested,  and  when  the  boy  turned  to 
me,  as  the  oldest  of  the  j^roup,  I  suppose, 
and  said,  holding  the  dog  towards  me, 
"Will  vou  take  it?"  I  put  oul  my  bauds  to 


19%  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

do  so.  But  Marty  was  ahead  of  me. 
Brushing  me  aside,  and  with  the  sweetest 
smile  in  the  world,  she  said,  "Give  me  the 
little  pet,"  and  took  the  clog  in  her  arms. 

"They  gave  that  dog  to  me,"  I  pleaded, 
trying  to  get  it  from  her. 

"How  can  you  say  such  a  thing?  The 
hoy  put  it  in  my  arms;  didn't  he,  Cousin 
Frances?" 

Now  Cousin  Frances,  who  had  just  ap 
peared  in  the  doorway,  always  sided 
against  me,  so  she  said:-"0f  course  lie  did. 
Xo  one  would  give  a  pet  dog  to  such  a  torn- 
hoy  as  Xell." 

"I  told  you  so,"  said  Marty,  going  to 
wards  the  door  with  her  treasure.     Tears 
of  rage  filled  my  eyes.     "You're  a  - 
fool!"  I  screamed,  with  choking  voice. 

"Oh,  I'm  going  to  tell  mother  what  you 
called  me!"  retorted  Marty,  hurrying  into 
the  house.  The  other  children  looked 
scared,  and  Cousin  Frances  turned  pale. 
"That  Lnii  should  be  sent  to  a  reforma- 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   !99 

tory,"  was  her  comment,,  as  she  followed 
Marty  into  the  house. 

In  a  few  moments  I  heard  my  sister's 
voice  over  the  balustrade:  ''^Mother  says 
for  you  to  come  right  up  to  her  room." 
Then,  as  I  passed  her  in  the  hall:  "You're 
going  to  catch  it." 

al  don't  care  if  I  am,"  I  answered 
fiercely.  I  went  slowly  into  my  mother's 
room,  for  I  realized  the  gravity  of  my  of 
fense,  and  was  not  at  all  anxious  to  force 
a  climax.  "I  am  shocked  beyond  measure 
that  a  daughter  of  mine  should  have 
called  her  little  sister  such  a  name."' 

"She  took  my  dog,"  --'lid   I',  sullenly. 

"It  makes  no  difference  what  she  did," 
said  my  mother.  "You  have  no  excuse  for 
using  such  language;  I  am  grieved  beyond 
expression.  (Jo  to  vonr  bed  at  once,  and 
think  over  your  conduct.'' 

I  went  to  mv  room  without  a  word,  but 
my  heart  was  filled  with  bitterness.  After 
I  got  to  bed  and  fell  to  thinking  over  the 
matter  in  the  dark,  I  felt  that  I  had  com- 


200  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

mitted  the  unpardonable  sin.  Didn't  the 
Bible  say  that  whosoever  called  his  brother 
a  fool  was  in  danger  of  hell-fire?  And  I 
had  called  my  sister  a  fool,  which  was 
much  worse,  and  a  -  -  fool,  too.  I  saw 
nothing  but  the  hottest  fire  before  me, 
and  began  to  fear  that  I  would  feel  its 
heat  that  very  night.  I  broke  into  a  cold 
perspiration,  and  my  heart  beat  so  loud 
that  I  could  hear  it.  Surely  my  end  was 
near.  It  was  quite  late  now,  and  the 
house  was  dark  and  silent.  I  got  trembling 
out  of  bed,  and  felt  my  way  down  the  hall 
to  my  mother's  door,  at  which  I  knocked 
with  nervous  fingers. 

''Who's  there?"  said  my  mother. 

"I  am— Xell." 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"I  feel  very  queer.  I — I  think  that  I'm 
going  to  die."  Then  I  heard  my  mother 
say  something  to  my  father,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  a  little  shake  in  her  voice. 
She  got  out  of  bed  and  opened  the  door. 

"Kun  right  back  to  your  bed.     You're 


Autobiography  of  a  Tom  hoy.   20' 

not  going  to  die  to-night,"  said  she,  put 
ting  her  hand  gently  on  my  shoulder. 

"I'm  afraid  I  am,"  said  I,  with  <|iiiver- 
ing  voice,  "and  I'm  in  d — danger  of  hell- 
fire.'" 

My  mother  took  me  l>v  the  hand  and 
led  me  hack  to  mv  room,  and  sat  on  the 
side  of  my  bed,  and  talked  to  me  as  only 
a  mother  can,  till  I  fell  asleep  and 
dreamed  that  the  little  dog  was  in  my 
arms. 


XV. 

ALTHOUGH  we  lived  in  Yonkers  but  a 
year,  the  place  is  burned  into  my  memory; 
for  it  was  while  living  there  that  I  learned 
the  meaning  of  war.  Sandy  was  the  first 
of  our  family  to  enlist,  and  that  seemed 
to  be  as  much  as  my  mother  could  stand; 
for  women  little  know  the  amount  of  suf 
fering  they  can  bear  without  breaking. 
Sandy  enlisted  as  a  private  in  a  regiment 
of  Zouaves,  and  his  school-chum,  John 
Pelham,  enlisted  with  him,  and  was  his 
tent-mate.  Pelham  was  a  man  of  fashion 
and  had  been  a  man  of  fortune.  When 
he  came  of  age  he  fell  heir  to  a  hundred 
thousand  or  so — a  goodly  sum  in  those 
days — and  spent  it  all  in  Paris  within 
twelve  months  of  the  time  it  was  paid 
over  to  him.  He  did  not  seem  to  care,  for 
he  had  his  mother's  home  to  live  in,  and 
he  counted  on  her  indulgence.  "When  the 


-_j>  Cp  <O 

T    \Vori.l)    STAND    MKPORK    HT.M    TV     OI'EN-Mi  H'TIIKO    A  DMTK  ATTOX. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  205 

war  broke  out  he  left  this  luxurious  home 
without  a  si<:h  of  regret,  and  roughed  it 
with  the  hardiest . 

My  excitement  over  Sandy's  enlistment 
was  <_!Teat.  I  longed  to  enlist  with  him; 
but  when  I  asked  if  I  could  be  the  daugh 
ter  of  the  reo-jinent,  and  ^o  to  the  war  with 
him,  he  only  told  me  not  to  be  silly.  I 
do  not  believe  that  oven  he  was  prouder 
than  I  was  of  his  ba.iriry  rod  trousers,  or 
the  white  turban  ho  wore  around  his  fox. 
When  he  came  homo  on  leave,  I  would 
stand  before  him  in  open-mouthed  admi 
ration.  Although  he  snubbed  mv  mili 
tary  aspirations,  I  was  not  discouraged, 
and  made  up  my  mind  to  see  what  I  could 
do  towards  realizing  mv  dream.  I  decided 
that  the  first  tiling  to  do  was  to  <:et  a 
drum  and  learn  to  beat  it.  It  took  all  of 
mv  saunas  to  buv  the  drum  upon  which 
I  tauirht  myself  to  beat  the  rataplan.  I 
managed  to  <^e<  a  soldier's  cap  and  a  can 
teen,  and  with  the  latter  liun^  over  my 
shoulder  and  the  former  perched  rakish- 


206  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

]y  on  the  side  of  my  head,  I  marched  up 
and  down  the  path  in  front  of  our  house, 
beating  my  drum  until  every  head  in  the 
street  must  have  ached. 

When  I  considered  that  I  could  drum 
well  enough,  I  decided  upon  a  course  of 
action.  The  regiment  to  which  my  hrother 
belonged  was  camped  in  City  Hall  Park, 
Xew  York.  There  was  no  post-office  or 
court-house  there  then.  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  call  upon  the  colonel  and  offer 
my  services.  Without  saying  a  word  to 
any  one,  I  took  the  boat  from  Yonkers  to 
Xew  York.  I  had  never  been  in  Xew  York 
alone  before  and  did  not  know  my  way 
about  the  city.  By  inquiring  of  every  one 
I  met,  however,  I  found  my  way  at  last 
to  City  Hall  Park.  My  heart  beat  high 
at  the  sight  of  the  tents,  and  of  the  red- 
legged  soldiers  moving  about.  I  won 
dered  whether  Sandy  would  see  me  and 
send  me  flying  back  home  before  my 
object  was  accomplished.  Once  enlisted, 
I  could  snap  my  fingers  at  him;  but,  be- 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  20~ 


j'oiv  coming  under  CJovcrnmenl  control, 
lie.1  miii'lit  have  the  upper  hand. 

Broadway  was  not  so  hard  to  cross  in 
those  days  as  it  is  now.  There  were  no 
cable-cars  or  automobiles  to  be  dodged. 
Only  stages  carried  passengers  on  that, 
thoroughfare,  and  they  jogged  along  so 
slowly  that  one  might  readily  have  played 
"puss-in-the-corner"  from  curb  to  curb 
without  danger  to  life  or  limb.  I  dashed 
easily  across  the  street,,  and  was  stopped 
hv  a  sent  ry. 

••Malt!"  cried  he,  with  all  the  formality 
of  a  volunteer. 

1     halted     and     saluted      at     which     he 


"Who  do  you  want  to  see?"  be  asked. 

"I've  come  down  from  Vonkers  espe 
cially  to  see  the  colonel:  and  I'm  going  to 
see  him."  I  answered,  trying  to  push  by. 

"Yon  can't  come  in  without  a  pass/' 
replied  the  sentry  lirmlv,  and  I  hesitated 
when  I  looked  at  his  gleaming  bayonet, 
.lust  then  an  ollieer  in  gold  epaulets  came 


208  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

along,  and  the  sentry  raised  his  musket  to 
salute.  The  officer  looked  at  me  inquir 
ingly,  and  I  raised  my  hand  to  the  side 
of  my  head  and  saluted  also.  This  evi 
dently  amused  him,  for  he  smiled  amiahly 
and  asked  what  I  wanted. 

''I  want  to  see  the  colonel,''  I  answered. 

"I  am  the  colonel,"  he  replied;  "what 
can  I  do  for  you?'' 

"If  you  will  take  me  into  your  tent  I 
will  tell  you;  hut  I  don't  want  to  talk  out 
here,"  as  who  should  say,  "We  can't  take 
common  soldiers  into  our  confidence." 

"Come  with  me  then,"  he  said,  and  I 
took  his  hand  and  trotted  along  hy  his 
side,  casting  a  haughty  glance  at  the  sen 
try.  Heated  on  a  camp-stool  in  the  col 
onel's  tent,  I  told  him  that  I  wanted  to 
he  the  daughter  of  his  regiment  and  fol 
low  it  into  hattle.  My  cheeks  hurned  and 
my  eyes  flashed  as  I  told  him  of  my  aspi 
rations.  He  smiled,  hut  shook  his  head, 
and  explained  that  there  were  no  daugh 
ters  of  regiments  in  our  army;  and  so, 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   20i-> 

though  he  \vas  pleased  with  my  patriotism, 
lie  could  not  grant  uiy  request.  Then  he 
asked  me  some  questions  about  myself, 
and  when  I  explained  that  I  had  come 
do\vn  from  Yonkers  without  asking  leave 
D|'  my  parents,  lie  said  that  lie  was  sorry 
that  such  a  nice  little  girl  should  do  so 
naughtv  a  tiling,  and  that  T  must  go  hack 
home  before  my  parents  hecanie  alarmed 
about  me.  Calling  an  orderly,  he  told 
him  to  take  me  up  to  Thirtieth  street  and 
put  me  on  the  train,  as  it  would  make  it 
too  late-  for  me  to  wait  for  the  boat;  and 
so  hack  I  went,  feeling  very  much  like  the 
king  of  France  who,  with  a  hundred  thou 
sand  men,  marched  up  the  hill  and  then 
marched  down  again. 

There  was  great  consternation  at  home 
when  I  explained  where  T  had  heen. 

"What  next?"  exclaimed  Cousin  Fran 
ces,  and  she  looked  as  if  she  knew,  hut 
that  it  was  too  had  to  tell.  T  was  marched 
promptly  off  to  bed;  hut  1  made  a  tent  of 
my  sheets,  and  with  a  hroom  for  a  musket, 


210  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

drilled  myself  till  I  was  so  tired  that  I 
fell  asleep. 

]t  was  not  long  after  my  visit  to  the 
camp  that  Sandy's  regiment  was  ordered 
to  the  front.  My  father  and  mother  went 
down  to  Xew  York  to  say  good-hyc  to 
their  soldier  son;  hut,  much  to  my  dis 
gust,  would  not  take  me  with  them.  It 
was  a  trying  ordeal  for  them  and  for  thou 
sands  of  others,  for  the  Zouaves  were  not 
the  only  regiment  that  marched  to  the 
front  that  day. 

To  my  great  delight,  a  regiment  of  Xew 
York  volunteers  went  into  camp  at  Yonk- 
ers.  The  camp  was  only  a  short  distance 
up  the  road  from  where  we  lived,  and  the 
soldiers  had  to  pass  our  house  every  time 
they  went  into  the  village.  We  got  to 
know  some  of  them  quite  well  hy  talking 
over  the  fence.  I  rememher  one,  a  cor 
poral  named  Lang,  a  farmer  from  the 
western  part  of  the  State.  He  had  chil 
dren  of  his  own:  so  he  liked  to  talk  with 
us,  and  would  often  come  inside  the  gate 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   2" 

and  sit  with  us  on  the  piazza  slops.  Tie 
told  us  about  his  wife  and  little  children, 
and  wo  confided  all  of  OUT  family  alTairs 
t<>  him.  1  recollect  telling  him  one  day 
that  Cousin  Frances  hud  a  very  affected 
way  of  pronouncing. 

''She  says  'ke-ind'  for  'kind'/'  wiid 
Marty,  and  'go-yard'  for  'guard'." 

''Yes/'  said  I,  imital  ing  her  speech,  "a 
ke-ind  gnrl  fell  from  the  ske-yi  on  To- 
use-day  \vilh  her  ge-ide,  and  her  go-yard." 

Wo  all  roared  with  laughter,  hut  he- 
camo  suddenly  solemn  when  wo  saw 
('onsin  Frances  looking  sternly  at  us  from 
the  parlor-window. 

''What  are  yon  laughing  at?"  said  she, 
in.  assumed  ignorance.  "Is  Xell  making 
a  monkey  of  herself,  as  usual?'' 

I  was  well  aware,  however,  that  she 
know,  and  I  kept  out  of  her  way  for  the 
rest  of  that  dav. 

Wo  wore  allowed,  on  occasions,  to  visit 
the  camp  in  company  with  mv  father.  The 
colonel  of  the  regiment  was  not  a  gradu- 


212  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

ate  of  West  Point.  Indeed,  I  doubt  that 
he  was  a  graduate  of  any  school  or  col 
lege;  but  he  was  one  of  the  bravest  sol 
diers  in  the  army.  My  father  preached  at 
the  cam])  on  two  or  three  Sundays,  and 
the  colonel  and  his  men  liked  him  and  his 
way  of  preaching  so  well  that  he  was  in 
vited  to  be  the  chaplain  of  the  regiment. 
Ue  accepted  the  ofl'er,  so  now  two  of  the 
family  were  in  the  army. 

At  last  the  day  came  for  the  regiment 
to  go  to  the  front.  It  was  a  sad  day  in 
our  household,  though  we  children  did  not 
realize  all  that  it  meant.  With  flags  flying 
and  bayonets  glistening  in  the  sun,  the 
soldiers  inarched  past  our  house  on  the 
way  to  the  train.  We  children  hung  over 
the  fence  and  waved  good-bye,  shouting 
to  those  we  knew  as  they  passed  us.  The 
men  we  knew  and  called  by  name  turned 
and  smiled  at  us  as  they  "marched  down 
'the  street  with  their  banners  so  gay." 
Then  we  saw  our  father,  «and  were  greatly 
excited.  We  waved  and  shouted  to  him, 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   2]3 

but  he  looked  straight  aliead  and  made  n<> 
sign,  which  surprised  us  very  much.  Soon 
thev  all  had  passed;  but  we  could  see  the 
flairs  gayly  floating  as  they  turned  the  cor 
ner,  and  could  hear  the  hand  playing  "The 
(iirl  L  Left  Behind  "Me,"  while  the  people 
along  the  streets  cheered  to  keep  up  the 
soldiers'  spirits  and  their  own. 

When  we  could  see  no  more  we  dashed, 
upstairs  to  mv  mother's  room.  We  wanted 
to  tell  her  that  father  never  looked  at  us 
as  he  marched  by.  The  shutters  were 
clo.-ed  and  the  windows  shut  tight  that 
she  might  not  hear  "the  tread  of  armed 
hosts."  Our  mother  was  lyinu'  on  the  bed. 
She  was  not  crying.  Her  eyes  were  dry 
and  wide  open,  but  they  looked  at  us  with 
out  seeing  us.  The  words  that  were  on 
our  Jips  were  unspoken.  We  turned  and 
\\ent  silently  down  stall's,  leaving  her 
alone  with  her  u'rief. 


XVI. 

THERE  must  be  gypsy  blood  somewhere 
in  our  veins,  for  we  seemed  to  be  forever 
moving.  There  were  always  the  best  of 
reasons  for  these  movings;  but  then  there 
are  plenty  of  people  who  do  not  move 
even  when  there  are  good  reasons  for 
doing  so.  After  my  father  joined  the 
army  and  left  Yonkers  for  the  seat  of  war, 
there  was  nothing  to  keep  us  in  that  town; 
and,  much  to  my  delight,  it  was  decided 
that  we  would  move  back  to  Birdlington 
and  take  possession  of  Fair  View,  the  old 
homestead.  Mr.  Munroe  had  been  obliged 
to  put  his  wife  in  an  asylum,  and  he 
had  gone  South  to  look  after  his  estates. 
Colonel  Barton  was  dead,  the  victim  of  a 
practical  joke,  and  nothing  was  the  same 
at  Fair  View  as  it  had  been  at  the  time  of 
my  last  visit. 

Poor  Colonel  Barton!  His  solemnity 
214 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   -'5 

and  his  belief  in  ghosts  had  been  too  much 
for  the  boys  in  Mr.  Munroe's  family,  and 
they  could  never  resist  the  temptation  to 
torment  him.  They  \vould  wrap  them 
selves  in  sheets  at  night  and  walk  slowly 
about  under  the  trees,  and  he  would  fol 
low  them  with  bated  breath,  to  learn  the 
news  from  the  other  world.  They  gave 
him  plenty  of  it,  too,  which  lie  received  as 
gospel-truth,  and  retailed  (he  next  morn 
ing  at  the  breakfast-table,  to  the  no  small 
delight  of  the  boys. 

The  ghost-joke  having  palled  at  last, 
these  thoughtless  youngsters  conceived  the 
idea  of  writing  love-letters  to  Colonel 
Barton,  and  giving  him  to  understand  that 
they  were  written  by  one  of  the  young 
ladies  at  the  boarding-school  in  the  vil 
lage.  The  unfortunate  man  became  madly 
infatuated  with  his  unseen  inamorata,  and 
wrote  her  the  most  impassioned  replies. 
These  the  boys  abstracted  from  the  hol 
low  of  a  tree,  which  served  as  a  post- 
office.  At  one  lime  the  colonel  was  in- 


216  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

structed  by  his  Delia  to  dress  up  in 
woman's  clothes  and  scale  the  ramparts 
of  the  boarding-school  to  see  her.  lie 
acted  upon  the  hint,  and  the  hoys  hid  in 
the  shrubbery  to  see  the  fun.  The  thick 
veil  that  he  wore  did  not  conceal  the 
colonel's  inky  whiskers,  and  the  principal 
of  the  school  saw  through  the  disguise  in 
a  moment,  and  ejected  the  eager  lover, 
bonnet,  hoop-skirt  and  all,  into  the  street. 
The  next  move  of  the  boys  was  to  write 
to  tbe  colonel  and  name  a  wedding-day. 
This  made  the  poor  dupe  supremely 
happy,  and  he  went  to  New  York  to  get 
an  outfit  suitable  to  the  occasion,  lie 
looked  such  a  dandy  when  he  returned 
that  no  one  knew  him.  He  had  evidently 
spent  a  good  deal  of  money;  and  the 
boys,  now  thoroughly  frightened,  con 
fessed  to  Mr.  Munroe,  who  was  outraged 
at  the  tricks  that  had  been  played  on  his 
friend.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
tell  the  colonel.  He  heard  the  story  in 
silence.  "Boys  will  be  boys,"  he  said, 


Autobiography  ot  a  Tomboy.   2|7 

with  a  ghastly  attempt  at  a  sniih1,  and  left 
the  room.  The  next  morning  his  dead 
li.xly  \\as  fdimd  washed  up  by  the  tide, 
lie  had  gone  from  his  audience  with  Mi'. 
Munroc  straight  to  the  river  and  thrown 
himself  in.  Whether  lie  took  his  life  he- 
cause  of  his  chagrin  at  heing  made  the 
\ictiiii  of  a  joke,  or  because  of  his  disap 
pointment  on  finding  that  (lie  woman  he 
loved  had  no  existence,  no  one  knows. 

AVe  children  were  very  happy  when  we 
arrived  safe  and  sound  at  Fair  View.  The 
place  was  rather  dilapidated,  hut  it  was 
the  country  and  it  was  the  old  home.  We 
were  to  live  in  the  hack  wing,  which  was 
reallv  larger  than  the  main  house,  and 
Aunt  .Maria  was  to  keep  possession  of  the 
front. 

The  hig  room  that  had  heen  Mrs.  Mun- 
roe's  hedroojn  was  to  he  our  parlor,  din 
ing-room  and  sitting-room  combined.  It 
T*vns  quite  large  enough  for  this  combina 
tion  of  uses,  but  it  was  so  out  of  the  usual 


218  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

way  of  Birdlington  arrangements  that  it 
was  one  of  the  sights  of  the  village. 

My  mother's  room  was  a  large  one  over 
the  combination.  The  two  girls  had  a 
small  room  on  the  left  and  the  hoys  an 
equally  small  one  on  the  right.  Yon  had 
to  go  through  one  or  the  other  of  these 
small  rooms  to  get  to  my  mother's,  which 
might  have  been  emharrassing  if  the  chil 
dren  had  been  older.,  but  in  the  circum 
stances  mattered  little.  Mother's  room 
was  heated  by  a  "drum"  from  the  room 
below,  while  that  of  the  girls  was  heated 
by  a  stovepipe  passing  through  it. 

My  room  was  in  the  attic  and  not  heated 
at  all.  But  I  much  preferred  an  unheated 
room  all  my  own  to  one  heated  to  the 
boiling  point,  if  it  had  to  be  shared  with 
another.  There  were  three  windows  in 
my  room.  The  largest  faced  the  north; 
the  other  two  facing  the  east  and  the 
west,  were  in  the  slope  of  the  ceiling  and 
were  therefore  lon£  and  low.  In  the  sum- 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  2l() 

iner  the  loaves  of  the  big  maples  on  the 
east  and  west,  made  a  pleasant  shade  for 
these  windows.  The  north  window  had 
no  shade,  but  it  commanded  a  pleasant 
prospect.  1  could  sit  in  a  chair  at  this 
window  and  look  out  over  the  orchard, 
with  the  meadow  in  the  distance  and  the 
rolling  country  beyond.  1  loved  that  view, 
winter  or  summer.  When  the  grass  and 
trees  were  green  and  the  apples  were 
ripening  in  the  orchard,  it  was  fair  to  look 
upon.  It  was  quite  as  attractive  in  the 
winter  when  the  ground  was  covered  with 
snow  and  the  branches  of  the  apple  trees 
were  borne  to  the  ground  bv  the  weight 
of  glistening  icicles. 

^}\  room  was  at  the  end  of  the  attic. 
so  that  I  had  two  straight  walls  and  two 
that  sloped  so  far  down  that  1  had  to 
kneel  when  I  wanted  to  look  out  of  their 
windows.  On  the  outside  of  the  door  of 
my  room  I  screwed  a  huge  brass  plate,  that 
had  come  from  my  grandfather's  front- 


220  Autobiography  of  a  Tombov. 

O         1  J 

door  in  Philadelphia.     Over  this  plate   I 
painted,  in  straggling  characters: — 

THE  DEVIL'S  DEN  : 
No  AHMITTUNSE  EXCEPT  ON  BISINESS. 

This  was  to  keep  out  the  children,  and 
it  succeeded  very  well  for  a  time.  The 
walls  of  the  room  were  not  papered,  but 
that  was  just  as  well,  for  I  had  them  cov 
ered  with  everything  in  the  shape  of  a  pic 
ture  that  I  could  lay  my  hands  on.  My 
taste  in  art  was  as  catholic  as  my  taste  in 
literature.  We  did  not  have  Braun  photo 
graphs  in  those  days,  and  I  would  not 
have  had  any  even  had  they  existed;  for 
they  cost  money,  and  money  was  an  un 
known  quantity  in  our  house.  The  stock 
on  hand  of  literature,  art,  or  clothes  had 
to  do,  and  it  did.  War  pictures  from  odd 
copies  of  Harper's  '\Ycek1y  took  the  place 
of  Braun's  reproductions  of  the  old  mas 
ters.  I  had  two  or  three  large  photographs 
of  rebel  generals  that  Mr.  Munroe  had  left 
behind  him.,  and  these  I  hung  up  with 


<>(•••  Vi-rtiv    !  -,"  K>-    ;,-st  J< 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   223 

holes  in  their  uniforms  made  by  my  jack- 
knife.  1  wanted  visitors  to  my  room  to 
know  thai,  although  I  might  hang  the 
portraits  of  rebel  generals  on  my  walls, 
1  was  not  in  sympathy  with  their  cause. 
Tacked  around  the  room  were  any  odds  or 
ends — branches  of  trees  with  bird's  nests 
in  them,  bits  of  Florida  moss  that  had 
been  given  me,  an  old  Hint-lock  pistol,  a 
bayonet  and  a  cavalry  sword  that  T  had 
found  about  the  house.  Arrow-heads  and 
pieces  of  curious  stones  were  arranged  on 
a  shelf,  and  on  another  shelf  my  books. 
Then-  were  Franklin's  "Autobiography" 
and  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  Plutarch's 
"'Lives"  and  "hanlioe,"  Miss  Fdgeworth's 
"Moral  Tales"  and  (ioldsmith's  ''Ani 
mated  Nature,"  the  Swiss  "Family  Uobin- 
>on"  and  "Peter  Simple."  a  volume  of  In 
fantry  Tactics,  and  mv  Jiible.  I  read  them 
all,  and  others  too;  for,  though  \  seemed 
to  be  always  racing  and  tearing.  I  read 
a  great  deal.  My  only  light  ai  night  was 
a  caudle,  but  1  rigged  up  a  piece  of  tin 


—4  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

behind  it  and  made  a  serviceable  reading- 
lamp.  In  winter  1  read  in  bed  because  it 
was  too  cold  to  sit  up,  but  under  the  bed 
clothes  it  was  as  warm  as  toast.  When 
I  got  too  sleepy  to  read  any  more,  I 
turned  the  candle  upside  down  and  it  ex 
pired  in  its  own  grease. 

In  the  winter  my  room  was  icy  cold;  in 
summer  it  was  hot  as  the  tropic  zone.  Hut 
I  did  not  mind.  I  liked  extremes  \vhen 
I  was  young.  It  took  a  lot  of  courage  to 
get  up  at  dark  on  a  winter's  morning,  for 
I  slept  witli  my  windows  wide  open.  I 
wanted  to  harden  myself,  I  said,  by  way 
of  explanation,  and  as  I  scorned  anything 
so  coddling  as  hot  water,  I  often  broke  the 
ice  in  the  pitcher  and  sponged  myself 
with  the  freezing  water.  This  treatment 
might  not  do  for  all  girls,  or  even 
for  all  boys;  but  it  seemed  to  agree 
with  me,  for  I  never  had  colds, 
and  have  never  had  a  serious  illness  in  my 
life.  Once  in  a  while,  when  the  water  in 
my  pitcher  was  frozen  solid,  I  was  obliged 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   225 

to  take1  it  downstairs  to  melt;  but  I 
spurned  the  hospitality  of  my  sisters'  room 
for  anything  but  thawing-ont  purposes. 

Our  _part  of  ihe  house  was  entirely  dis 
tinct  from  Aunt  Maria's.  We  children 
were  only  allowed  to  visit  hers  when  in 
vited:  Itiil  that  does  not  mean  that  we 
always  waited  for  an  invitation.  Diana 
had  now  returned  to  her  service,  while  we 
kept  a  middle-aged  white  woman  with  lit 
erary  yearning's.  I  don't  know  why  it:  was 
that  so  inanv  of  our  servants  were  poets 
or  novelists.  'This  particular  blue-stock 
ing  had  a  passion,  I  cannot  call  it  a  gift, 
for  writing  romantic  novels:  or,  perhaps, 
I  should  sav,  a  romantic  novel,  for  1  do 
no!  think  that  she  wrote  more  than  one. 
Her  name  was  Kuphcinia;  at  least,  she 
said  il  was,  though  the  village  people  who 
had  known  her  from  voiith  to  middle-age 
said  that  it  was  Martha.  II  would  have 
been  a  bolder  child  than  I,  and  1  was  no 
coward,  who  would  have  called  her  Martha 
at  close  ran  ire;  for  she  had  a  terrible  tern- 


226  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

per,  and  was  tall  and  wiry.  I  preferred 
wearing  the  white  badge  of  peace  in  Eu- 
phemia's  presence  rather  than  the  red 
badge  of  courage.  She  loved  a  fight,  and 
seized  any  excuse  for  one.  Though  her 
skin  looked  as  if  it  were  tough,  she  \vas 
the  most  sensitive  of  women.  I  never  saw 
one  who  took  offense  so  suddenly.  If  you 
said,  "It's  a  pleasant  day,  Euphemia,"  she 
was  offended,  because  by  mentioning  that 
fact  you  assumed  that  she  was  not  aware 
of  it:  and  that  assumed,  again,  that  you 
took  her  for  an  unobserving  fool.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  you  failed  to  make  some 
such  pleasant  remark  when  you  met  her, 
that,  alas!  was  cause  for  offense;  for  it 
proved  that  you  were  too  proud  to  speak 
to  her.  You  can  readily  see  that  one 
walked  on  eggs,  as  it  were,  with  a  woman 
like  Euphemia  in  the  kitchen. 

Her  room  was  in  the  open  attic  next  to 
mine.  She  saw  that  I  had  books  in  my 
room;  so  she  jumped  at  the  hasty  conclu 
sion  that  I,  like  herself,  was  of  a  literary 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   - 

turn.  This  made  a  bond  of  sympathy  be 
tween  us — a  one-sided  bond,  I  admit;  but 
it  served  to  keep  me  in  Kuphemia's  good 
graces.  She  showed  me  her  manuscript, 
one  day,  as  a  supreme  mark  of  confidence. 
It  was  wrapped  in  an  old  ilannel  petti 
coat  and  tucked  away  between  the  mat 
tresses  of  her  bod.  The  leaves  were  faded 
and  worn,  and  the  pages  smudged  and 
greasy  from  much  handling.  The  title 
v,  us: 

CLKMKXTINK'S  CHILD  : 
A  STORY  OF  MISPLACKII  LOVE. 

BY 

ECl'lIKMIA   \>F.  VKKNKV. 

I  was  allowed  to  read  while  she  watched 
me.  Kvidently  Kuphemia  (ni't'  Johnson, 
pen-name  do  Yerney)  had  fed  on  the 
most  sentimental  novels  that  she  could 
lay  her  hands  on:  "Clementine's  Child'' 
was  a  sort  of  composite  novel.  It  had 
recollections  of  everything  that  its  author 
had  read,  and  she  had  never  read  anything 
worth  reading.  I  remember  one  passage: 


228  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"  'Why,'  said  Lord  Havering,  with  a  scorn 
ful  sneer,  'do  you  disdain  my  suit?' 

"Clementine's  child  trembled.  She  felt 
herself  grow  faint  as  this  silver-tongued  vil 
lain  tried  to  wind  his  way  into  her  innocent 
heart. 

"  '(io,  sir,'  she  said,  pointing  to  the  door; 
but  he  stood  firm — he  would  not  went." 

Like  Clementine's  child,  I  felt  myself 
tremble,  but  it  was  with  suppressed  laugh 
ter.  Well  that  it  was  suppressed,  too,  for 
Euphemia's  eyes  were  upon  me. 

"It's  wonderful,  Kuphemia,"  I  said. 

"Of-  course.,  it's  wonderful,"  she  an 
swered,  taking  the  precious  manuscript 
from  me,  and  wrapping  it  up  in  the  petti 
coat.  "Jhit  I  can't  get  it  published.  The 
ignorance  of  publishers  is  beyond  belief. 
They're  fools,"  said  she,  angrily — "fools, 
that's  what  they  are;  I'd  show  'em,  if  I 
was  a  publisher." 

"Perhaps  you'd  be  a  fool  like  the  rest," 
1  ventured. 

"Not  much,"  she  replied,  with  a  scorn- 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  229 

f'ul    smile;    "for    they're    fools    to    begin 
with." 

Euphemia  was  not  the  only  woman  who 
found  it  hard  to  combine  the  art  of  cook 
ing  with  the  art  of  writing.  While  hatch 
ing  out  plots  she  spoiled  the  omelette; 
with  her  brain  on  tire  the  range  grew  cold, 
and  so  it  came  about  that  we  parted  com 
pany.  My  mother  then  engaged  a  young 
Irish  girl,  who  could  neither  read  nor 
write.  This  change  was  distinctly  for  the 
better. 


XVII. 

COUSEST  FEAXCES  came  with  us  to  Bird- 
Hngton,  and  while  she  was  there  she  oc 
cupied  the  little  room  that  was  intended 
for  the  baby  boys,  who  were  taken  into 
mothers  room  for  the  time  being.  Cous 
in  Frances  was  the  most  uncompromis 
ingly  modest  woman  I  ever  knew.  Sandy 
used  to  say  that  he  never  dared  tell  her 
the  naked  truth,  for  fear  that  she  would 
faint.  However  that  may  be,  she  was 
certainly  modest  to  a  painful  degree. 
When  she  took  the  boys'  room  she  kept 
the  door  locked,  for  fear  that  some  of  us 
children  might  bolt  into  it  while  she  was 
combing  her  hair.  Just  to  tease  her,  we 
would  climb  the  tree  nearest  her  window, 
and  try  to  look  in.  AVe  did  not  succeed, 
but  she  feared  that  we  might,  so  she  kept 
the  curtain  drawn. 

I  remember,  one  morning,  hearing  her 
230 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   23> 

tell  my  mother  that  she  was  very  much 
embarrassed  at  having  the  canary  in  the 
room  \vlien  she  bathed! 

"The  little  tiling  looked  at  nie  so  sharp 
ly,  with  its  bright  eyes,  that  I  was  really 
obliged  to  throw  a  towel  over  the  cage/' 
she  said  with  a  simper. 

"I  should  think  yon  would  drive  the. 
ilies  out,  for  the  same  reason,"  answered 
my  mother. 

.Modesty  was  not  the  only  weakness  of 
Cousin  Frances.  She  was  something  of 
a  hypochondriac,  and  not  only  nursed 
imaginary  ills,  but  wanted  to  be  stunip- 
master  in  the  matter  of  ailments.  You 
could  not  describe  an  ache  or  a  pain  that 
you  bad  without  her  matching  it  with  a 
similar  or  worse  one.  I  was  often  wicked 
enough  to  invent  ailments,  just  for  the 
fun  of  hearing  Cousin  Frances  sav  that 
she  bad  suffered  from  them. 

1  would  come  down  to  the  breakfast 
table  and  sav: 

"Oh,    dear    me — what    a    night     I    have 


232  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

had!  Such  a  singular  pain!"  Cousin 
Frances  would  be  all  attention.  "It  ran 
down  my  arm,  then  criss-crossed  over  my 
ear  and  stayed  there  a  while;  then  it 
seemed  to  go  to  my  foot,  and  out  at  my 
elbow." 

Cousin  Frances  could  hardly  wait  for 
me  to  finish  before  she  would  begin:  "I 
know  all  about  it.  I  have  had  just  the 
same — only  worse;  down  my  arm,  over 
my  car,  in  my  foot,  and  out  at  the  elbow," 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word.  ''It  is 
terrible;  you  had  better  take  care  or  you 
will  suffer  as  I  did,"  and  she  would  put 
her  hands  to  the  afflicted  parts  and  really 
seem  to  suffer  in  the  recollection. 

Cousin  Frances  was  also  a  stump-master 
in  dreams.  K"o  one  ever  had  such  dreams 
as  she.  The  only  trouble  was  that  we 
could  not  make  much  out  of  them.  The 
breakfast-table  was  her  favorite  place  for 
recounting  them. 

"I  dreamed  last  night  that  I  was  here, 
yet  I  wasn't  here;  and  you" — turning  to 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   2^ 

my  mother — '"were  in  the  room,  only  it 
wasn't  yon.  Then  some  one  said  some 
thing,  though  no  one  spoke,  and  Sandy 
came  in  with  his  uniform  on,  only  it 
wasn't  his  uniform." 

"Was  it  Sandy?"  I   piped  up. 

"It  was  and  it  wasn't,"  Cousin  Frances 
would  continue,  until  we  were  all  so  con 
fused  that  we  had  no  more  idea  what  .-'he 
had  dreamed  ahout  than  she  had  herself. 

Poor  Cousin  Frances!  She  was  really 
verv  kind,  and  her  weaknesses  were  harm 
less.  One  of  them  was  to  he  thought  "re 
fined."  She  wouldn't  eat  food  that  she 
considered  "coarse."  If  we  had  mackerel 
for  hreakfast,  she  made  a  point  of  saying 
that  she  never  ale  mackerel,  she  consid 
ered  it  coarse  food.  Then  we  would  all 
sav  how  we  Inrrd  mackerel. 

"  'Love!'  What  a  won!  to  use  about 
salt  mackerel.  You  shouldn't  sav  such 


234  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"You  should,"  joined  in  Marty,  "1  do. 
I'd  love  to  kiss  one."  This  was  too  much 
for  Cousin  Frances,  and  she  left  the  table 
in  disgust. 

She  thought  a  good  deal  of  her  family, 
which,  when  all  was  said  and  done,  was 
a  good  enough  family,  but  of  no  special 
distinction.  Our  wild  ways  distracted  her, 
because  she  thought  them  unaristocratic. 
She  believed  that  children  should  be  kept 
in  the  house  and  taught  to  do  fancy- 
work.  Such  tomboy  tricks  as  we  were 
addicted  to  distracted  her,  and  when  we 
came  home  with  grimy  hands  and  our 
frocks  torn  in  ribbons,  she  shuddered  with 
an  unconcealed  disgust.  She  thought  that 
our  hands  should  be  soft  and  white;  that 
her  own  were  neither  was  her  misfortune, 
not  her  fault.  To  make  her  rather  broad 
hands  seem  narrow,  she  tucked  her 
thumbs  under  her  palms,  the  ends  of  the 
fingers  she  piled  one  upon  another,  as  one 
imagines  that  a  Chinese  lady  wears  her 
unfortunate  toes. 


COfSTX   FBANCE8   LKFT   THE   TAJJI.E   TX    DISGI  ST. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   23~ 

There  was  one  interest  that  Cousin 
Frances  and  I  had  in  common:  \ve  wore 
both  fond  of  reading.  I  read  everything 
tliat  came  my  wav.  and  she  was  equally 
insatiable.  I  think,  however,  that  I  had 
a  bHter  idea  of  what  I  read  than  she  had 
of  her  own  reading.  She  sewed  a  ^reat 
deal,  too,  and  usually  had  a  hook  on  her 
lap  while  she  was  sewing  so  that  she  could 
read,  as  it  wen1,  hetween  the  stitches.  The 
fiinnv  part  was — and  here  is  when1  we 
were1  not  alike — that  she  never  remem 
bered  what  she1  had  heen  reading  five 
minutes  after  she  had  laid  down  her  book. 

I  would  see  her  close  her  hook  and  take 
up  her  sewing  and  would  say:  "What 
have  von  been  reading,  ('ousin  Frances:'" 

She  would  look  rather  confused  and 
replv:  "1  didn't  look  at  the  name  of  the 
1 M  K ik. 

"Who  was  it   by?" 

"I  don't  recollect  the  author's  name," 
with  a  furtive  glance  at  the  cover. 

"What   was  it  all  ahout?" 


238  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy, 

"Let  me  see."  The  back  of  her  hand 
would  £o  up  to  her  mouth  while  she 
thought.  ''It  was  about  some  people — and 
there  was  a  man  and  a  woman — yes,  I'm 
quite  sure  of  that — a  man  and  a  woman, 
and  he  wanted  her  to  marry  him,  but 
there  seemed  to  be  some  trouble — I  was 
just  getting  to  that  when  I  laid  the  book 
down." 

"You  must  love  to  read,"  with  a  touch 
of  sarcasm. 

"It's  the  greatest  pleasure  I  have  in  life. 
I  get  completely  absorbed  in  a  book.  I 
forget  everything  in  the  plot." 

"So  it  seems!'; 

I'm  afraid  that  we  teased  poor  Cousin 
Frances  too  much,  though  she  never 
seemed  to  notice  it.  She  was  a  great  talker, 
and  yet  she  never  said  anything  worth  re 
membering.  Her  conversation  had  so 
many  ramifications  that  it  was  hard  to  fol 
low  her.  She  would  begin  to  tell  you  an 
insignificant  story  about  a  man,  and  drag 
in  all  his  family  history  as  she  went  along, 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  239 

though  it  li.ul  no  hearings  upon  tlu1  story. 
You  would  try  to  l>reak  away,  hut  it  was 
of  no  use;  she  would  not  be  downed.  Our 
mother  used  to  characterize  her  way  of 
taking  part  in  a  conversation  as  ''partici- 
pat ing  and  watering." 

Cousin  Frances  did  not  live  with  us  all 
the  time  that  we  were  at  Birdlington.  She 
had  relations  in  difTerent  States,  to  whom 
she  paid  periodical  visits,  and  when  she 
returned  to  our  house  she  made  compari 
sons  that  were  sometimes  odious. 

We  were  poorer  than  ever  in  those  war- 
days,  and  many  were  the  expedients  that 
we  were  put  to,  to  get  substitutes  for  the 
luxuries  that  we  used  to  consider  neces 
saries.  War-prices  prevailed  in  the  mar 
kets  as  well  as  in  the  dry-goods  stores. 
Cotton  goods  were  scarce  at  a  dollar  a 
yard,  and  even  count  rv  products  were 
dcai1,  owing  to  the  demand  from  the  army. 
Coffee  in  those  days  \vas  entirelv  beyond 
us,  and  yet  \ve  wanted  something  ''warm 
and  brown,"  as  Marly  expressed  it,  to 


24°  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

drink  with  our  breakfast.  An  ingenious 
neighbor  suggested  sweet  potatoes  as  a 
substitute;  not  boiled  or  fried  and  eaten  as 
a  vegetable,  but  peeled  and  cut  into  small 
cubes,  roasted  and  ground,  and  made  just 
as  you  would  real  coffee.  It  had  no  stimu 
lating  effect;  but  we  did  not  think  it  halt' 
bad  with  cream,  though  without  sugar, 
which  was  too  dear  for  us  to  buy.  To-day, 
T  suppose,  some  inventive  genius  would 
put  those  ground  sweet  potatoes  up  in 
packages,  and  label  them  '"Coffeene,"  or 

"XEARCOFFEE." 
LOOKS  LIKE  COFFEE,  DRINKS  BETTER. 

Gloves,  such  as  were  sold  at  the  shops, 
were  another  luxury  that  did  not  enter 
into  our  calculations.  I  made  them  for  mv 
mother  and  myself,  and  the  youngsters 
went  without;  or  wore  mittens.  I  got  to 
be  quite  expert  at  making  gloves.  I  would 
get  a  good-sized  piece  of  chamois  at  the 
drug  store,  and  dye  it  a  modest  gray.  This 
dyed  skin  I  would  stretch  on  a  board  and 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  24J 

fasten  tight.  Then  I  would  take  an  old 
pair  of  kid  gloves,  rip  them  all  apart,  pin 
the  parts  down  on  the  skin,  and  cut  out 
the  pattern  with  a  sharp  knife.  When 
the  .seams  were  all  sewed  up,  I  would 
take  the  gloves  to  the  undertaker's  to  he 
pinked  around  the  edge.  This  .finishing 
touch  gave  them  a  style,  without  which 
[  would  have  thought  them  incomplete. 
I  never  made  a  pair  of  shoes,  hut  ]  dare 
say  that  I  could  have  managed  to  if  I  had 
heeii  put  to  it. 

Don't  think  that  I  spent  all  my  time 
working.  On  the  contrary,  1  seemed  to 
some  of  my  relatives,  among  them  Cousin 
Frances,  to  do  nothing  hut  play.  In  the 
winter  I  studied  under  the  rector  of  the 
parish  (when  I  was  not  skating),  and  in 
the  summer  I  loafed  and  invited  my  soul. 
I  loved  skating,  hut  I  was  never  a  graceful 
skater.  I  could  cut  figures  on  the  ice,  but 
it  would  have  taken  a  trained  geometri 
cian  to  tell  what  they  were.  When  it 
came  to  speed,  i  distanced  all  pursuers. 


242  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

We  had  a  lake,  a  canal,  and  a  river  to 
skate  on.  The  river  gave  us  twenty  miles 
of  clear  course,,  when  we  could  skate  on  it 
at  all;  and  such  races  as  we  used  to  have! 
The  wind  itself  didn't  go  faster.  I  thought 
nothing  of  skating  from  hreakfast  till  bed 
time,  with  a  light  lunch  of  bread  and  mo 
lasses  between.  Such  clumsy  skates  as  we 
had  in  those  days,  too!  The  first  pair  I 
had,  I  think  must  have  belonged  to  Xoah's 
sons.  The  runners  came  out  inches  be 
yond  the  sole,  and  ended  in  a  curlicue 
with  a  brass  acorn  on  the  end  of  it.  There 
was  nothing  at  the  edges  to  keep  the  feet 
in  place,  only  a  strap  to  hold  them  down. 
Dangerous  things  they  were,  with  that 
curled,  acorn-tipped  steel  projecting  in 
front.  These  were  the  skates  that  I 
learned  on.  Later  I  had  a  better  pair,  but 
never  any  to  compare  with  those  that  are 
worn  to-day. 

I  was  a  venturesome  child,  and  the 
warning  sign,  '"Thin  Ice,"  did  not  daunt 
me,  if  I  wanted  to  skate  around  it.  One 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   24-3 

day,  when  that  si^n  was  displayed,  1  said, 
"Who's  afraid?  Xot  I,"  and  struck  out 
boldly  from  the  shore.  In  less  lime  than 
it  takes  to  mention  it,  1  was  in  the  water; 
and  if  the  undertaker's  son  had  not 
jumped  in  and  pulled  me  out — a  most 
altruistic  impulse  for  a  man  in  his  line  of 
business  to  act  upon — I  should  not  be 
here  to  tell  the  tale.  I  shall  never  forget 
how  my  teeth  chattered.  No  castanets 
ever  heat  quicker  time.  Hot-water  bot 
tles  and  hot  blankets  restored  me;  bid 
to  this  day  I  never  hear  it  said  thai  any 
one  is  "skating  over  thin  ice"  that  I  do 
not  feel  a  cold  shiver  run  down  mv  back. 


XVIII. 

THOUGH  we  were  not  allowed  to  visit 
Aunt  Maria's  part  of  the  house  except  on 
invitation.,  I  often  went  unbidden,  for  the 
blood  of  Eve  was  bounding  through  my 
veins.  The  cellar  of  that  part  of  the. 
house  had  a  singular  fascination  for  me, 
for  in  the  spring  it  was  a  foot  deep  in 
water  and  I  could  navigate  it  in  a  wash- 
tub  propelled  by  a  broom.  At  other  times 
I  was  tempted  by  the  eatables  to  be  found 
on  the  "swing-shelf."  There  were  always 
pans  of  milk  topped  with  thick  yellow 
cream  to  be  found  there,  and  as  often,  a 
dish  of  cold  boiled  potatoes.  As  I  raced 
and  tore  from  morn  till  night  I  was  usu 
ally  hungry.  To  take  a  cold  potato  and 
skin  the  cream  with  it  was  too  great  a 
temptation  for  me  to  resist.  If  you  have 
never  tasted  a  cold  potato  topped  with 
cream  you  have  lived  in  vain.  Talk  about 
244 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  245 

"angel's  food!" — it  is  wormwood  and  gall 
by  comparison.  The  next  best  thing  to  cold 
potato  and  cream  is  cold  roast  chicken. 
Not  one  untouched  bv  the  carver's  knife, 
but  one  that  has  done  such  good  service 
at  table  that  it  looks  as  though  its  days  of 
usefulness  were  over.  Looks,  however,  are 
often  deceiving.  Never  more  so  than 
where  a  chicken  carcass  is  concerned.  The 
amount  of  solid  white  meat  that  can  hide 
itself  under  bare  bones  passes  belief.  Oc 
casionally  there  would  be  a  good  fat 
drumstick,  or  a  curling  neck'  from  whose 
corrugated  bones  I  nibbled  the  most 
savory  morsels. 

To  top  oil'  this  feast  with  a  slice  or  two 
of  dried  peach,  touched  very  lightly  in 
the  cream  (there  would  be  a  tell-tale  trail 
of  brown  juice  behind),  gave  a  finish  that 
Lucullus  might  have  envied.  I  used  to 
hear  Diana  grumble  to  herself  that  it 
wasn't  safe  to  leave  food  in  the  cellar,  for 
the  ''boldness  of  them  rals  beat  all  nater.'' 
I  was  sorrv  io  have  the  rats  maligned,  but 


246  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

then,  it  must  be  remembered,  I  owed  no 
loyalty  to  rats. 

1  did  finally  eonfess  my  raids  on  the 
larder  to  Aunt  Maria,  who  seemed  to  he 
more  surprised  that  I  enjoyed  eating  cold 
potatoes  than  annoyed  at  my  thieving  pro 
pensities:  hut  then  Aunt  Maria  was  no 
longer  young  and  she  had  not  the  keen, 
appetite  of  youth. 

We  children  were  of  a  sociable  nature 
and  made  friends  with  our  neighbors  with 
out  much  delay.  The  village  rector  lived 
opposite  with  his  wife  and  two  sons,  while 
a  widow  with  three  sons  occupied  the 
nearest  house  on  our  left.  Our  playmates 
were  of  necessity  boys,  which  suited  me 
very  well,  for  we  had  many  tastes  in  com 
mon.  One  of  our  most  popular  games, was 
Indian,  which  we  played  in  the  meadow. 
This  game  consisted  almost  exclusively  of 
fighting.  AYe  were  divided  into  two 
tribes;  of  one  of  these  I  was  the  chief,  of 
the  other  the  biggest  boy  neighbor.  It 
was  very  exciting.  The  members  of  each 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   247 

tribe  would  hide  behind  trees  and  bushes, 
then  one  would  spy  another,  give  a  war- 
whoop  and  the  fight  would  begin.  Brand 
ishing  sticks  and  staves,  we  would  spring 
out  into  the  open  with  fearful  yells  and 
beat  at  each  other  until  peaee  was  declared 
or  we  were  carried  oil'  prisoners  and  tied 
to  trees.  If  it  was  peace  we  squatted 
around  a  big  fire,  while  the  boys  smoked 
long-stemmed  pipes  (illed  with  dried  corn- 
silk  and  we  all  looked  solemn  and  said 
"Cgl.!" 

.My  reputation  for  wildness  filled  the 
neighborhood,  and  >ayings  and  doings  of 
which  1  was  entirely  innocent  were  laid 
at  niv  door.  So  far-reaching  was  this  rep 
utation,  that  a  man  from  a  neighboring 
city  drove  up  to  our  house  one  day  and 
told  Aunt  Maria  that  he  bad  come  to  see 
-Wild  Xell."  of  whom  he  had  heard  so 
much.  Aunt  Maria  was  indignant  and 
declared  that  there  was  no  such  person. 
Whereat  he  expressed  his  disappointment 
and  drove  auav.  However,  this  unprofit- 


248  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy, 

able  reputation  of  mine  set  her  to  think 
ing,  so  she  and  my  mother  talked  me  over 
one  night,  and  the  result  of  this  talk  was 
that  I  was  sent  to  school. 

I  was  rather  pleased  with  the  idea.  It 
meant  less  play,  but  it  also  meant  a  change 
and  seeing  a  lot  of  girls  of  my  own  age.  I 
was  not  used  to  the  restraints  of  a  school, 
nor  to  coming  into  such  close  contact  with 
strangers;  but  I  felt  that  I  could  hold  my 
own  if  it  came  to  a  fight,  and  so  I  marched 
boldly  into  the  schoolroom  and  sat  down 
at  the  desk  assigned  me.  There  must 
have  been  some  fifty  girls  in  the  room,  all 
of  whom  stared  at  me.  Some  with  mild 
curiosity  in  their  gaze,  others  with  ill-sup 
pressed  smiles  at  my  awkward  appearance. 
I  wore  a  figured  calico  dress,  the  skirt  of 
which  came  just  below  my  knees,  and  my 
legs  were  long.  I  noticed  the  smiles,  and 
my  eyes  shot  back  defiance.  At  the  desk 
next  to  mine  sat  the  best-dressed  girl  in 
the  room.  She  was  pretty,  too,  though 
her  nose  was  rather  too  aquiline  to  be  al- 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   25I 

t no-other  in  keeping  with  her  small  inuuth. 
Her  hair  was  parted,  in  the  middle, 
brushed  smoothly  down  hehind  her  ears 
and  thrust  into  an  elaborate  ehenille  net. 
She  stared  at  me,  and  then  raising  the  lid 
of  lie]1  desk  said  in  a  low  voice  hehind  it 
so  the  teacher  could  not  hear: 

••Hello,   freckles!'' 

"Hello,  long  nose!"  said  I  from 
behind  the  lid  of  mv  desk.  The  girl 
laughed  an  amused  laugh. 

"You're  a  onener,"  said  she. 

"You're  another!"  said  I. 

Rat-tat  sounded  the  teacher's  ruler  on 
his  desk. 

"Miss  Kate!"  said  he.  "what  are  you 
doing  hell  ind  vour  desk  lid  ?" 

"Nothing.  Mr.  Kusk."  she  replied,  clos 
ing  the  lid.  I  followed  suit. 

"Very  well  then,"  said  he  sternly. 
"Don't  do  it  any  more1."  So  she  resumed 
her  studies  with  an  occasional  wink  at  me, 
as  who  should  say:  "We'll  have  it  out  at 
recess." 


252  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

When  that  glad  hour  came  my  desk 
mate  turned  to  me  and  said:  "What's  your 
name  ?" 

"What's  yours?"  I  asked. 

"Miss  Kate;  didn't  you  hear  Mr.  Rusk?" 

"Then  mine's  Miss  Xell,  but  you  can 
drop  the  Miss  as  soon  as  you  like.  I  don't 
care  for  handles." 

"Very  well,  then.  Call  me  Kate  and 
I'll  call  you  Xell.  Will  you  go  home  with 
me  to  dinner?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered  promptly,  "if  you'll 
go  home  with  me  to  supper."  To  which 
she  agreed,  and  so  began  the  friendship 
of  a  lifetime. 

There  was  not  a  day  for  many  years 
and  scarcely  an  hour  of  the  day  that  Kate 
Redmond  and  I  were  not  together.  I  never 
knew  a  girl  with  such  high  spirits  or  a 
readier  wit.  She  would  play  the  most 
outrageous  pranks  in  school,  and  get  the 
teachers  into  fits  of  laughter  while  they 
were  trying  to  scold  her.  She  usually  knew 
her  lessons,  but  never  seemed  to  study. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  253 

She  was  proficient  in  French  and  played 
the  piano  with  a  swing  that  set  every 
body's  feet  a-dancing. 

She  was  very  fond  of  a  practical  joke, 
and  nothing  pleased  her  more  than  to 
jump  in  a  farmer's  "hnggy"  left  unat 
tended  in  front  of  a  village  store  and  drive 
off  with  a  lot  of  girls.  The  farmer  would 
he  indignant  until  Kate  drove  hack  and 
apologized  with  so  much  grace  and  hvmior 
thai  he  laughed  and  said  it  was  "all  right, 
only  he  was  kinder  skeert  when  he  found 
the  old  nag  gone."  Another  trick  of  hers 
was  to  snatch  a  sign,  "Take  One,"  from  a 
hunch  of  handhills  and  stick  it  over  a 
hasket  of  peaches  in  front  of  a  grocer's 
door.  You  can  imagine  how  quickly  that 
haskel  emptied,  and  yon  can  also  imagine 
the  wrath  of  the  grocer! 

Kate  liedmond  found  in  me  a  kindred 
spirit,  and  we  soon  had  the  town  hy 
tin  ears.  There  were  more  stories,  true 
and  false,  told  ahout  us  than  would  fill  a 
hook.  The  Redmonds  were  well  off  and 


254  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

Kate  had  a  pony  carriage  and  pair.  In 
tli is  we  used  to  scour  the  country.  Such 
raids  as  we  made  on  distant  orchards!  and 
such  scrapes  as  we  got  into!  I  remember 
one  occasion,  when  T  went  over  the  fence 
to  get  the  apples,  while  Kate  sat  in  the 
wagon  to  hold  the  ponies.  I  had  just 
filled  the  skirt  of  my  dress  with  the  red- 
cheeked  beauties  and  was  making  my  way 
across  an  orchard,  when  a  man  with  a 
pitchfork  in  his  hand  and  a  dog  at  his 
heels  appeared  upon  ihe  scene.  What  did 
the  wicked  Kate  do  at  sight  of  him  but. 
whip  up  the  ponies  and  speed  oft  down 
the  road.  Dropping  my  apples  I  ran 
screaming  after  the  wagon.  I  could  hear 
Kate's  shouts  of  laughter  in  the  distance. 
Finally  she  looked  back  and  realizing  that 
the  joke  was  a  pretty  poor  one,  brought 
the  ponies  to  a  stop  while  T  scrambled  in 
at  the  back  of  the  wagon  just  as  the  dog 
snapped  a  piece  out  of  my  dress.  Then 
with  a  crack  of  the  whip  the  ponies  dashed 
off  again,  while  the  farmer  and  the  dog 


"  MISS    KATE." 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  257 

bit  the  dust  kicked  up  by  their  hoofs.  I 
told  Kate  plainly  that  I  thought  the  joke 
a  poor  one,  but  she  made  it  all  right  by 
letting  me  drive  home,  and  \ve  entered  the 
village  at  a  rattling  pace,  Kate  sitting  a  la 
on  the  back  of  one  of  the  ponies. 


XIX. 

I  DID  not  like  study  any  too  well,  Init 
I  liked  school,  because  out  of  school 
hours  I  had  such  good  times  with  the 
other  girls.  I  was  pretty  well  liked,  as  a 
girl  will  he  who  is  good-natured  and  fond 
of  fun.  Even  the  teachers,  to  whom  I 
must  have  been  a  great  trial,  seemed  to 
like  me  and  only  punished  me  when 
there  was  no  way  out  of  it.  I  liked  my 
teachers,  too,  and  outside  of  the  school 
room  we  had  many  good  laughs  together. 
Arithmetic  was  my  bete  noire,  and  is  to  this 
day.  I  can  add  up  a  column  of  figures 
like  a  lightning  calculator,  but  the  re 
sult  is  never  correct.  Common  "cipher 
ing"  was  bad  enough,  but  when  it  came 
to  mental  arithmetic,  with  its  idiotic  ques 
tions,  I  succumbed.  ITow  could  I  ever 
answer  offhand  such  a  question  as:  ''If 
a  man  raised  one  hundred  bushels  of 
258 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  259 

wheat  on  an  acre  lot,  and  sold  it  for  o^ 
cents  per  peck,  how  many  quarter  pecks 
would  he  have  to  sell  to  make  $500?" 
When  such  conundrums  were  propounded 
to  me  I  gave  them  up  on  the  >pot,  for  the 
minute  1  tried  to  work  them  out  my  mind 
became  a  blank  and  the  world  seemed  to 
he  slipping  from  under  my  feet.  The 
simple  sum,  "If  a  herring  and  a  half  cost 
a  penny  and  a  half,  how  much  would  six 
herrings  cost?"  made  my  brain  reel.  Those; 
eternal  fractions!  Why  should  people 
bother  with  them  anyway?  Why  was  it 
not  much  more  sensible  to  deal  in  round 
numbers? 

The  two  studies  1  liked  the  most  were1 
history  and  Knglish  Literature,  the  lat- 
ler  meaning  ''Cleveland's  Compendium." 
That  was  my  favorite  because  it  told  in 
concise  form  about  the  writers  whom  I 
loved  and  gave  extracts  from  their  writ 
ings.  The  girls  who  could  rattle  oil'  their 
mental  arithmetic  sums  as  glibly  as  you 


260  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

like  would  fall  to  earth  before  English 
Literature.  I  looked  at  them  with  open- 
mouthed  admiration  when  they  added 
quarters,,  eighths  and  sixteenths,  while 
they  gazed  upon  me  with  awe  because  I 
remembered  when  Milton  was  born  and 
could  dash  off  a  page  of  "Paradise  Lost" 
without  prompting. 

School  seemed  to  have  a  good  effect 
upon  me.  At  least  it  kept  me  out  of  mis 
chief  for  a  certain  length  of  time  every 
da}',  so  it  was  decided  to  try  t4ie  experi 
ment  with  Marty  and  Miney.  They  were 
not  to  go  to  the  same  school  with  me,  but 
to  a  "dame's  school"  kept  by  an  old  lady 
named  Arnold,  to  whom  my  mother  and 
Aunt  Maria  had  gone  when  they  were 
children.  Mrs.  Arnold's  house  was  on 
the  main  street  and  the  schoolhouse  was 
in  the  back  yard.  There  was  a  gate  at  the 
side  of  the  house,  so  arranged  with  a  bit 
of  rope  and  an  old  axehead  that  it  banged 
to  as  you  entered — suddenly  sometimes — • 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   -6l 

catching  your  skirls  if  they  \vere  long 
enough,  and  bringing  you  back  with  a 
jerk. 

Mrs.  Arnold  was  an  old  lady,  with  a 
thin,  anxious  face.  81  le  wore  gold  spec 
tacles  and  sat  at  a  raised  desk  and  was 
never  without  a  rattan  switch  in  her  hand. 
This  switch  was  for  two  purposes — to  rap 
for  order  and  to  touch  up  refractory 
pupils.  The  dear  old  lady  used  to  drop  of? 
to  sleep  frequently  and  always  woke  up 
with  a  start.  "There,  you  John,  gad's  life, 
what  mischief  are  you  in  now?"  and  rap- 
rap-rap  would  go  the  switch  on  the  desk, 
and  on  the  mischievous  John,  too,  if  he 
didn't  jump  out  of  the  way  in  time. 

Mrs.  Arnold  didn't  teach  all  the  classes. 
Some  of  the  older  pupils  were  sent  into 
the  house  to  her  daughter,  Miss  Caroline, 
who  was  an  invalid,  suffering  from  spine 
disease.  She1  taught  my  two  sisters  up  in 
her  bedroom,  for  she  only  came  down 
stairs  laic  in  the  afternoon,  when  her 
brother  carried  her  to  her  place  in  a 


262   Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

big  armchair  by  the  window.  There  she 
sat  till  bedtime,  only  leaving  the  front 
room  when  she  was  wheeled  into  the  din 
ing-room  for  supper. 

There  was  no  more  popular  young 
woman  in  the  village  than  Miss  Caroline, 
nor  one  who  received  more  attention. 
When  any  one  got  anything  new  it  was 
carried  at  once  to  Miss  Caroline  for  ap 
proval.  She  was  kept  supplied  with  flow 
ers,  hooks,  the  latest  magazines,  the  latest 
patterns  for  embroidery;  indeed,  every 
thing  was  done  to  make  her  happy.  Xo 
one  passed  her  window  without  a  smile 
and  a  nod,  and  many  a  friend  dropped  in 
to  "pass  the  time  of  day."  In  the  evening 
the  little  front  room  was  filled  with  the 
young  people  of  the  village  and  there  were 
not  many  places  where  they  enjoyed  them 
selves  more. 

Whenever  there  was  a  lecture  or  a  con 
cert  at  the  town  hall  Miss  Caroline  was 
there,  too.  The  young  men  had  made  a 
low  cart,  into  which  they  lifted  her  chair 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   265 

with  her  in  it,  and  while  one  pulled  an 
other  pushed,  and  when  they  arrived  at 
the  hall  they  carried  the  ehair  up  the  aisle, 
and  Miss  Caroline,  attended  by  her  escort 
and  a  jolly  party  of  young  people,  had  the 
best  seat  in  the  house.  In  this  way  she 
was  taken  to  supper  parties,  too,  for  such 
entertainments  were  never  considered 
complete  without  her  presence.  Every 
thing  that  her  friends  could  do  to  make 
up  for  her  great  allliction  was  done,  and  I 
dare  say  that  she  was  much  happier  than 
most  of  her  able-bodied  companions,  for 
after  all  happiness  is  where  you  find  it, 
and  some  people  go  through  life  looking 
for  it  and  never  finding  it,  though  it  may 
lie  just  in  front  of  them. 

Marty  and  Miney  didn't  learn  much  at 
Mrs.  Arnold's,  but  that,  I  am  sure,  was 
quite  as  much  their  fault  as  hers.  They 
did  while  there,  however,  acquire  a  taste 
for  '"dime  novels,"  I  regret  to  say,  and 
came  home  with  their  school  bags  tilled 
with  the  publications  of  P>eadle,  lent  to 


266  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

them  by  a  fellow  student.  As  I  read 
everything  that  came  my  way,  I  skimmed 

*/  O  »/  */  7 

through  these  dime  novels,  and  if  the 
truth  were  known,  was  thrilled  hy  the 
adventures  of  '''Three-Fingered  Mike," 
''Dare-Devil  Dick''  and  the  rest  of  the  im 
possible  crew.  It  was  with  even  greater 
avidity,  however,  that  I  read  stories  about 
seeking  fortunes,  and  it  was  no  doubt 
these  books  that  sowed  the  poisonous  seed 
in  my  mind— but  that  is  another  chapter. 

During  the  winter  months  I  became  a 
boarder  at  the  Birdlington  Female  Semi 
nary,  as  the  walking  was  too  bad  for  me 
to  go  into  the  village  every  day;  and  then, 
too,  I  have  a  "sneaking  notion,"  as  the 
saying  is,  that  the  life  of  those  at  home 
ran  more  peacefully  when  I  was  away. 

As  I  found  amusement  in  everything,  I 
thought  it  great  fun  to  be  a  boarder,  for 
there  was  so  much  mischief  that  could  be 
done  at  night  that  could  not  be  done  by 
day.  The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  get 
up  a  midnight  wedding.  One  of  the  girls 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  -()7 

was  to  l)e  dressed  as  a  man,  the  other  as 
a  bride.  I  was  to  wear  a  gown  and  per 
form  the  wremony,  and  there  were  to  he 
refreshments  after  the  deed  was  done.  To 
get  the  man's  clothes  was  no  easy  matter, 
hut  1  managed  to  purloin  a  suit  from  the 
room  of  a  young  son  of  the  principal.  The 
bride's  dress  was  easily  managed — simple 
white,  with  a  veil  of  mosquito  netting  and 
a  wreath  of  artificial  tlowers.  ~M\  gown 
was  equally  simple — a  strip  of  black  over 
my  robe  <le  unit,  which  1  put  on  over  my 
dress,  and  there  yon  were.  The  young 
man,  whose  clothes  I  had  borrowed  with 
out  his  permission,  was  tall  and  slim;  the 
young  woman  who  was  to  be  the  bride 
groom  was  short  and  fat.  After  much 
difficulty  we  stuffed  her  into  the  trousers, 
she  looking  for  all  the  world  like  an  ill- 
made  pin  cushion  at  a  county  fair.  Then 
we  put  fierce  mustaches  on  her  lip  with 
burnt  cork.  After  the  house  was  quiet  we 
came  out  of  our  several  rooms  in  a  big 
hall  at  the  to])  of  the  house,  till  we  inns- 


268  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

tered  twenty  strong.  Xot  all  the  girls 
came,  for  there  were  some  that  we  didn't 
let  into  our  secret.  The  wedding  was  go 
ing  merrily  along,  the  bridegroom  had 
just  left  the  imprint  of  his  mustache  on 
the  cheek  of  the  bride,  and  I  had  barely 
got  the  words,  "We  will  now  adjourn  to 
the  banquet  hall,"  out  of  my  mouth,  when 
the  lady  principal  appeared  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs. 

"You  will  now  adjourn  to  the  study," 
said  she  sternly. 

You  can  imagine  our  consternation. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  obey.  I 
thought  of  the  banquet  awaiting  us — 
chocolate  creams,  crackers  and  pickles — 
and  heaved  a  sigh;  but  I  joined  the  pro 
cession  headed  by  the  bride  and  bride 
groom  and  tailed  by  the  lady  principal. 
With  beating  hearts  we  marched  noise 
lessly  down  the  stairs,  not  daring  to  speak 
to  each  other,  but  exchanging  eloquent 
glances. 

Dr.  Wakeley,  the  gentleman  principal, 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   2()9 

was  something  of  a  night  owl,  and  lie  was 
reading  quietly  in  his  study,  absorbed  in 
his  book,  when  the  door  opened  and  the 
singular  procession  filed  in.  "God  bless 
my  soul!"  he  exclaimed,  starting  io  his 
feet,  frightened  into  an  unusual  exclama 
tion  for  one  so  calm.  I  think  that  he  took 
us  for  the  Ku-Klux-Klan,  then  at  the 
height  of  its  notorious  existence;  but  the 
appearance  of  his  wife  at  the  end  of  the 
line  reassured  him. 

In  a  few  words  she  explained  the  enor 
mity  of  our  crime.  The  bride  stood  pale 
and  trembling;  tears  were  rapidly  destroy 
ing  the  bridegroom's  mustache. 

"I  need  not  say  who  I  believe  to  be  at 
the  bottom  of  this  outrageous  conduct,'" 
said  the  lady  principal,  regarding  me 
sternly. 

"If  you  mean  me/'  said  T,  stepping  for 
ward,  "you  are  right.  1  got  the  whole 
thing  up,  from  bridegroom  to  pickles. 
There's  no  one  else  to  blame.  You  can 
sentence  me  without  trial — I  plead  guilty. 


27°  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

What's  the  verdict?"  I  inquired,  turning 
to  Dr.  Wakeley. 

"Young  ladies,"  said  he,  looking  at  the 
others  over  the  top  of  his  spectacles,  "you 
may  retire  to  your  beds."  Then,  fixing 
his  eyes  upon  me,  "this  young  lady  may 
remain.  I  will  speak  to  her  alone."  Mar 
shalled  by  Mrs.  Wakeley,  the  procession 
filed  out  as  noiselessly  as  it  had  filed  in, 
and  I  was  left  alone  with  the  Reverend 
Principal. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  I,  "what  is  the  pun 
ishment  for  my  crime?" 

"I  don't  know  just  what  to  do  with  you, 
Xell,"  said  he,  regarding  me  with  a 
puzzled  expression.  "You  are  not  a  bad 
girl,  and  yet  you  do  give  me  a  good  deal 
of  trouble." 

"Where's  the  harm  in  a  little  fun?"  I 
asked. 

"There  is  no  harm  in  a  little  fun  at  the 
right  time,  but  midnight  is  not  the  time 
for  pranks." 

"That's  just  why  it  is  more  fun  to  play 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   2/r 

pranks  then.  If  it  was  all  right,  there'd 
be  no  excitement.  When  you  have  things 
at  the  right  time  there's  no  fun.  We  don't 
care  so  much  for  pickles  at  dinner,  but 
pickles  in  our  bedrooms  taste  better  than 


'You're  a  strange  child,  Xell,"  said  Dr. 
Wakeley,  regarding  me  as  he  might  re 
gard  a  iK'\v  ''specimen"  in  the  natural  his 
tory  class.  ''If  you'll  promise  me  to  keep 
out  of  mischief  in  the  future  you  may  go 
to  your  room." 

''I  can't  make  such  a  promise,  Dr. 
Wakclry,"  1  replied  more  in  sorrow  than 
with  intention  to  be  rude;  "for  1  couldn't 
keep  it." 

Seeing  that  1  was  quite  in  earnest,  he 
reasoned  with  me  until  I  got  tired  of 
listening,  and  spying  the  chess-board  and 
men  on  a  convenient  table  I  proposed  a 
game.  Chess  was  Dr.  YTakeley's  weak 
ness.  In  a  moment  we  had  the  board  be 
tween  us.  .1  played  a  pretty  good  game, 
having  had  much  practice  with  my  father, 


272  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

and  the  Doctor  found  me  no  unworthy 
foe.  He  was  delighted.  When  Mrs. 
Wakeley  returned  from  the  dormitory, 
what  was  her  surprise  to  see  the  Doctor 
and  me  with  heads  together  over  the 
board. 

"Check!"  said  the  Doctor. 

"Check-mate!"  I  exclaimed,,  making  a 
sudden  move,  and  ran  laughing  from  the 
room,  followed  by  the  indignant  gaze  of 
the  lady  principal. 


The  "big  room"  at  Fair  View  was  the 
most  popular  place  in  the  village  among 
the  young  people.  I  suppose  it  was  be 
cause  there  was  no  parlor  restraint  about 
it.  It  was  very  plainly  furnished,  so  that 
we  did  not  have  to  consider  the  furniture, 
and  then  my  mother  was  very  indulgent 
and  believed  in  young  people  enjoying 
themselves  to  the  full.  So  long  as  we  did 
not  tear  down  the  house  we  could  have  all 
the  fun  we  liked.  When  our  noise  became 
unbearable  she  would  retreat  into  Aunt 
Maria's  part  of  the  house,  where  all  was 
peace  and  quiet. 

One   of   our    favorite   amusements   was 

dancing.     "We  had   no  piano,  nor  even  a 

fiddle,  so  1  supplied  the  music  by  playing 

(>n  a  comb.     I    need  hardly  explain   this 

-75 


2/6  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

shrill,,  lip-tickling  process — which  is  mere 
ly  blowing  through  a  piece  of  thin  paper 
folded  over  a  comb.  As  my  hair  was  kept 
in  place  with  a  "round  comb/'  and  tissue 
paper  was  plentiful,  we  were  never  at 
a  loss  for  music.  I  could  play  waltzes,  the 
deux  icmps,  and  the  ever-popular  "Lan 
cers"  on  the  comb,  and  I  doubt  if  Strauss's 
orchestra  ever  played  to  merrier  parties 
than  those  that  danced  to  my  music. 
Cake  and  lemonade  were  the  refreshments 
on  rare  occasions.  Once,  when  Sandy 
was  home  from  the  war,  we  had  Eoman 
punch.  The  presence  of  the  new  rector 
and  his  bride  accounted  for  this  extrava 
gance.  l)0th  the  rector  and  Sandy  were 
fond  of  making  things;  indeed,  Sandy 
could  cook  pretty  well  when  he  tned,  so 
they  said  they  would  make  the  punch 
together.  There  was  much  tasting,  mix 
ing  and  freezing,  and  when  the  punch  was 
made  and  we  had  eaten  it,  we  began  to  feel 
rather  queer. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   279 

"I  didn't  know  that  Human  punch  was 
so  strong,"  said  my  mother,  setting  her 
plate  aside. 

"It's  very  good,"  said  Aunt  ]\Iaria, 
helping  herself  to  more.,  "hut  it  certainly 
is  very  strong.'' 

Sandy  and  the  rector  exchanged 
glances.  Then  they  confessed. 

"Mr.  Dean  heing  a  clergyman,"  said 
Sandy,  "1  thought  he  wouldn't  put  in 
much  rum,  so  I  gave  an  extra  touch.'' 

"And  I."  slid  the  rector,  "argued  that 
Sandy  wouldn't  put  in  enough  hecause  1 
\vas  a  clergyman,  so  I  added  an  extra 
<|ua  ut  it  v." 

Thus  it  was  explained  why  the  punch 
was  so  stnmg,  and  "so  good,"  said  Sandy; 
hut  mother  shook  her  head  at  him  and  he 
said  no  more. 

Then  we  had  a  little  more  dancing,  and 
while  we  were  resting  we  coaxed  Aunt 
"Maria  to  sing  "fiaffer  Toe,"  a  song  that 
was  popular  when  she  was  young,  and 


280  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

which  she  sang  with  much  spirit  and  to 
our  great  delight : — 

Mr.  Poe  was  a  man  of  great  riches  and  fame, 
And  I    loved  him,  I'm  sure,  though  I  liked 

not  his  name. 

He  asked  me  to  wed.     In  a  rage  I  said,  No, 
I'll  never  marry  you  and  be  called  Mrs.  Poe. 

(Spoken)  I  think  I  can  hear  the  little  chil 
dren  in  the  village  singing, 

"That's  Mistress  Poe,  Goody  Poe,  Gammer 

Poe," 
Oh,  I'll  never  marry  you  and  be  called  Mrs. 

Poe. 

Then  Kate  Kedmond  (lanced  a  jig  and 
I  whistled  ''Listen  to  the  Mocking  Bird," 
doing  the  listening  and  the  mocking  my 
self.  It  was  a  gay  evening,  this,  and  much 
of  the  gayety.may  be  attributed  to  the 
punch. 

Sandy  had  been  wounded  in  the  leg  and 
was  obliged  to  go  about  on  crutches.  lie 
was  a  lieutenant  now,  and  brought  a  body- 
servant  home  with  him,  as  he  required  a 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   2>Sl 

good  deal  of  attention.  Tliis  servant  \vas 
a  young  Frenchman,  who  spoke  no  Fng- 
lisli.  Miehaud  was  his  name,  and  lie  was 
most  amusing.  He  had  a  beautiful  so 
prano  voice,  and  sang  like  an  angel, 
though  1  doubt  it'  the  songs  he  sang  were 
such  as  angels  sing.  French  angels,  per 
haps,  but  not  American. 

Sandy  spoiled  him  because  lie  \vas  so 
amusing,  and  treated  him  more  as  a  com 
panion  than  as  a  servant,  and  we  children 
made  much  of  him — entirely  too  much. 
Aunt  .Maria  said. 

Sandy,  being  on  crutches,  could  not  get 
about  very  well,  M>  Miehaud  ran  his  er 
rands.  He  scandalized  the  village  by  go 
ing  about  without  a  hat.  The  weather 
was  warm,  and  he  thought  it  cooler  to  go 
bareheaded,  a  common  thing  in  France, 
but  not  tolerated  in  the  male  citi/ens  of 
Birdlington,  though  the  women  seldom 
covered  their  heads  with  anything  more 
than  a  parasol  during  the  summer  months. 

That   he  did   not   wear  a   hat,  and   that 


282  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

he  not  only  did  not  speak  English,  but 
didn't  try  to,  was  an  offence  to  the  good 
villagers,  and  they  made  his  daily  trip  to 
the  post-office  a  trying  one.  The  vulgar 
little  boys  along  his  route  made  remarks 
that  he  did  not  understand,  but  which  he 
could  tell  by  the  gestures  that  accom 
panied  them  were  not  complimentary. 
One  day  as  he  passed  through  the  street 
whistling  the  "Marseillaise,"  his  tormen 
tors  began  throwing  stones  at  him  and  call 
ing  him  Johnny  Frog.  Delighted  at  the 
wit  of  their  children  the  mothers  looked 
smilingly  on.  Michaud  did  not  retort  with 
stones,  as  most  boys  would  have  done,  but 
crossed  the  street  and  explained  to  the 
women  in  his  best  French  and  with  elo 
quent  gestures,  that  he  had  done  nothing 
to  cause  their  children  to  attack  him  with 
stones.  The  women's  eyes  flashed  at  his 
insolence,  as  they  termed  it,  and  one  of 
them  vowed  that  she  would  go  then  and 
there  to  the  Gilberts,  and  tell  them  how 
"thet  theer  frog-eatin'  dago  o'  theers  had 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   -s.> 

sassed  her.''  She  was  as  good  as  her  word. 
Midland  followed  in  her  wake,  glad  of  an 
opportunity  to  explain  the  situation. 

Sandy  \vas  sitting  in  a  big  chair  under 
the  "button-wood"  trees,  shouldering  his 
crutch  to  show  how  fields  were  won,  while 
we  children  listened  with  eager  ears,  when 
the  gate  opened  and  the  woman  and  Mi- 
chaud  came  up  the  path.  The  former 
opened  iire  at  once. 

"I've  lived  in  this  town  girl  and  woman 
fur  forty  year,"  said  she,  "and  never  in 
all  my  life  was  I  called  sicli  names  as  I've 
been  called  to-day  by  that  French  dago  o' 
your'n." 

Here  Michaud  turned  to  Sandy  and  ex 
plained  that  he  had  done  nothing,  and 
that  he  was  passing  quietly  through  the 
street  when  the  boys  began  to  throw  stones 
at  him. 

'''There  he  goes  agin,"  cried  the  infuri 
ated  woman,  ''the  very  sass  he  give  me 
before,  and  me  standin'  at  my  own  door. 
Mis'  Pettibone  was  standin'  there,  too,  and 


2§4  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

ken  prove  that  he  called  me  them  very 
names." 

"My  good  woman/'  said  Sandy,  '"'the 
boy  doesn't  speak  a  word  of  English — 

"He  don't  try  ter,"  interrupted  the 
woman. 

"He  couldn't  if  he  tried,"  continued 
Sandy,  "and  he  has  just  been  telling  me 
that  he  was  passing  quietly  through  the 
streets  when  your  boys  called  him  names 
and  threw  stones  at  him." 

"I  don't  keer  ef  they  did,  lie's  a  imper- 
tunt,  sassy  thing,  and  ef  he  calls  me  any 
more  of  them  'ornery  French  names  I'll 
sick  the  dawg  on  him,  and  see  how  he 
likes  that.  I'm  a  decent  woman,  and  I 
ain't  goin'  to  be  called  none  of  them  uu- 
decent  French  names  by  him,  nor  no  one 
else.  He  knows  I'm  a  lone  widdcr  and 
ain't  got  no  husban'  to  stan'  up  fer  me,  or 
he  wouldn't  dare  call  me  outer  my  name!'' 
Here  she  began  to  weep,  more  with  rage 
than  from  a  realization  of  her  bereave 
ment. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   ~S5 

Sandy,  whose  sense  of  humor  was  very 
keen,  had  much  difficulty  in  controlling 
his  laughter,  hut  lie  was  amiable,  and  he 
also  wanted  to  make  Midland's  path  to  the 
village  a  peaceful  one.  He  invited  the 
woman  to  he  seated,  and,  sending  Midland 
away,  patiently  explained  that  the  hoy  was 
saving  nothing  that  he  should  not  say; 
that  heing  nnahle  to  speak  Fnglish  he  was 
Irving  to  tell  her  in  French  that  he  was 
not  to  Maine.  The  woman  listened,  but 
was  skeptical.  "  I  Ie  couldn't  speak  Fng- 
lisli  any  more  than  you  could  speak 
French,"  explained  Sandy. 

"Me  speak  French!"  she  exclaimed, 
with  indignation,  "not  if  it  was  the  only 
langwidge  in  the  world.  I  ain't  got  no  use 
fer  French  langwidge,  ner  French  people. 
They're  an  iindecent  lot,  with  no  moral 
principles,  and  their  langwidge  is  no  het- 
ter  I  han  t  hey  are." 

However,  she  ended  by  saving  that  she 
felt  HUTV  for  a  ••younu'  feller"  who  hadn't 


286  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

got  no  better  "langwidge  to  speak  in,"  and 
that  if  he'd  keep  to  this  side  of  the  street 
and  give  her  "no  more  of  his  sass"  she 
would  stop  the  boys  from  "hollerin' "  at 
him.  So  peace  was  declared,  and  there 
after  Michaud  went  his  way  unmolested. 


XXT. 

BASEBALL  was  the  great  game  in  the 
early  sixties,  and  it  was  no  more  than 
natural  that  a  tomboy,  such  as  I  was, 
should  ho  the  captain  of  a  nine.  There 
were  t\vo  cluhs  in  Birdlington,  composed 
entirely  of  girls,  and  we  ]>layed  a  lively 
game. 

Though  not  the  oldest,  I  was  the  tallest 
girl  on  either  side,  and  had  a  great  ad 
vantage  in  making  bases.  It  was  nothing 
for  me  to  score  a  "home-run"  every  time 
I  was  at  ibe  bat,  and  when  I  jumped  for  a 
ball  I  usually  got  it.  Kate  Redmond,  who 
was  captain  of  the  opposing  nine,  was 
short:  but  she  was  so  light  and  agik'  that 
she  could  do  a  "home-run"  almost  as  easily 
as  I  could.  The  ball  field  was  within  our 
own  gates,  so  our  games  were  private. 
When  I  t  hints'  of  how  we  stood  out  under 
the  burning  sun  and  played  by  the  hour,  I 
287 


288  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

wonder  that  I  am  alive  to  tell  the  tale! 
My  hands  were  as  hard  a»  any  hoy's,  of 
which  I  was  very  proud;  but  the  fly  in  my 
ointment  was  that  I  hadn't  a  broken  little 
finger.  That  would  have  been  the  finish 
ing  touch.  There  wasn't  a  boy  in  the  vil 
lage  who  hadn't  a  crooked  finger,  and  I 
felt  rather  humiliated  that  all  mine  should 
be  straight.  I  feared  that  people  would 
think  that  we  didn't  play  a  real  game,  but 
I  can  assure  you  that  we  played  with  the 
hardest  balls  and  seldom  "muil'ed. " 

To  the  great  annoyance  of  our  family, 
some  reporter  on  a  paper  in  a  neighboring 
town  got  wind  of  our  games,  and,  though 
he  never  saw  one,  he  wrote  them  up.  And 
such  a  writing  up!  He  didn't  dare  give 
our  names;  "personal  journalism"  hadn't 
the  tolerance  in  that  day  that  it  has  in 
this;  but  he  spelled  them  out  this  way: 
X-el  G-l-e-t,  captain  of  the  Fair  Views, 
and  K-te  E-d-o-d,  captain  of  the  Galaxys. 
He  did  not  describe  a  game  as  it  was  reallv 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   2lSt-> 

played,  but  drew  entirely  upon  his  imag 
ination,  and  a  strange  imagination  lie 
had.  He  ^,\\(l  that  we  knocked  the  hall 
into  each  other's  eyes,  punched  one  an 
other's  heads,  and  behaved  in  a  generally 
outrageous  manner.  "File  editor  of  our 
local  paper  was  disgusted,  and  published, 
the  next  week,  a  scathing  attack  upon  his 
out-of-town  rival,  which  I  dare  say  the 
latter  thoroughly  enjoyed  and  set  down  to 
advertising.  This  publicity  broke  up  our 
nines,  and  we  amused  ourselves  for  the 
rest  of  the  summer  more  as  well-regulated 
girls  are  su pposed  to  do. 

Xext  to  our  place,  toward  the  village, 
was  a  six-acre  lot  where  circus  companies 
pitched  their  tents,  to  our  great  delight. 
AYlien  I  hadn't  money  enough  to  pay  at 
the  gate,  I  crawled  in  under  the  flaps  of 
the  tent,  for  never  was  FAC  so  sorely 
tempted  bv  the  serpent  as  1  when  I  heard 
the  braving  of  the  circus  band  and  the 
snapping  of  the  ring-master's  whip.  A 


29°  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

hint  from  the  manager,  and  I  would  have 
rim  off  with  one  of  these  companies  at  any 
moment,  hut  I  dare  say  I  would  have  run 
as  quickly  Lack.  I  was  fascinated  hy  the 
entire  show,  from  the  spangled  acrobats 
to  the  living  skeleton,  or  "skelikon,"  as 
Miney  called  him. 

These  circuses  were  a  great  trial  to  my 
mother  and  Aunt  Maria,  for  they  brought 
a  very  rough  class  of  people  about  our 
place.  They  came  to  our  pump  for  water 
and  they  helped  themselves  to  the  fruit 
from  our  trees.  I  was  rather  proud  of 
their  condescension  in  this  respect,  and 
could  not  quite  understand  why  my 
mother  and  Aunt  Maria  objected  to  their 
patronage. 

One  of  the  greatest  expenses  of  our 
home  were  the  fences.  They  were  never 
very  good,  and  consequently  were  always 
breaking  down  and  in  constant  need  of  re 
pair.  Aunt  Maria's  life  was  made  a  bur 
den  by  the  depredations  of  neighbors' 
cows  and  pigs,  and  they  kept  her  busy 


•.-te.V:-   .i^^s^SSK*1  -  &* -£- :  •.---  -  • 


Autobiography  ot  a  Tomboy.  2<A3 

driving  them  out.  Whatever  else  she  did 
through  the  day  (she  was  ahvavs  busy), 
s!ie  kept  an  eye  out  of  the  window  in  the 
direction  of  the  weakest  fence.  One 
morning  she  was  sitting  !>v  Tier  bedroom 
window  darning  stockings,  when  gazing 
out  over  the  oat  iield  she  saw  an  elephant 
and  two  giraffes  trampling  down  the  rip 
ening  grain..  Without  stopping  1o  count 
the  consequences,  and  with  but  one 
thought  in  her  mind — the  routing  of  the 
enemy — she  started  alone  across  the  field. 

"Shoo!  shoo!"  she  shouted,  shaking  her 
apron  at  the  beasts.  They  regarded  her 
in  mild-eyed  wonder,  and  went  on  calmlv 
trampling  down  the  oats  that  they  did  not 
cat. 

"(Jo  "wav  witli  you,  scat !"  she  cried,  and 
threw  stones  at  them  which,  I  need  hardly 
sav.  fell  far  short  of  the  mark,  .lust  as 
she  was  about  to  rush  violently  upon  them 
two  men  stopped  through  the  opening  in 
t  he  fence. 

"Keep  cool,  old  girl,"  said  one  of  them, 


294  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"you'll  get  inter  trouble  if  you  go  near 
that  elephant." 

Aunt  Maria  hesitated  to  give  up  the 
fight,  hut  deciding  that  the  men  could  do 
hetter  without  her  she  retired  to  a  safe 
point  of  observation,  and  watched  them 
drive  the  beasts  out.  It  seems  that  they 
had  escaped  from  the  circus  menagerie 
in  the  next  lot  and,  sniffing  the  ripening 
oats,  had  easily  pushed  down  the  old  fence 
and  walked  in.  It  is  just  as  well  that  the 
keepers  arrived  when  they  did,  otherwise 
it  might  have  gone  badly  with  Aunt  Maria, 
for  the  elephant  was  the  famous  '••Kin- 
press"  that  finally  had  to  be  shot,  as  she 
killed  four  of  her  keepers  shortly  after 
the  raid  upon  our  oat  field. 

The  story  of  Aunt  Maria's  adventure 
was  not  long  in  reaching  the  village,  and 
it  gathered  picturesqueness  as  it  sped.  At 
last  accounts  it  was  to  the  effect  that  a 
royal  Bengal  tiger  and  an  African  lioness 
had  attacked  her  while  she  was  at  break 
fast,  and  that  she,  seizing  a  bread-knife, 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   -95 

had  charged  upon  the  angry  beasts  and 
slain  them. 

At  any  rate,  the  village  was  very  much 
excited  over  the  matter.  It  was  a  great 
relief  to  the  mothers  of  young  children 
when  a  convent  was  built  on  the  ground 
formerly  used  for  circuses,  and  that  waste 
place  soon  blossomed  as  the  rose. 

Instead  of  the  howling  of  wild  beasts 
and  the  blare  of  a  blatant  hand,  we  heard 
the  soft  notes  of  the  organ  and  the  low 
chanting  of  the  nuns.  Instead  of  painted 
equestriennes  in  pink  tights,  we  saw  black- 
gowned,  white-capped  sisters  gliding  over 
the  grass  on  their  way  to  chapel. 

There  was  not  the  same  excitement 
about  the  convent,  but  it  made  my  mother 
and  aunt  supremely  happy,  and  for  that  1 
was  glad,  though  I  could  not  but  regret 
t  he  circuses. 

I  should  like  to  see  an  old-time  country 
circus  again,  for  then  everything  took 
place  in  one  ring,  and  you  did  not  run  the 
risk  of  becoming  cross-eved  or  a  victim  of 


296  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

nervous  prostration  trying  to  watch  four 
rings  at  the  same  time.  But,  then.,  one 
must  be  young  to  thoroughly  enjoy  a  cir 
cus,,  and  alas! — 

Not  having  a  circus  to  distract  me,  I 
thought  that  I  should  like  to  learn  a  pro 
fession,  or  trade,  I  didn't  much  care 
which.  There  were  not  so  many  avenue? 
open  to  women  in  those  days  as  there 
are  to-day.  I  didn't  want  to  he  a  dress 
maker,  though  I  would  not  have  minded 
being  a  cabinet-maker.  I  decided,  how 
ever,  to  be  a  doctor  and  to  begin  practis 
ing  at  once.  Why  waste  time  in  study?  I 
immediately  took  down  the  sign  "Devil's 
Den"  from  the  door  of  my  room  and  sub 
stituted: 


DR.   N.  GILBEKT. 
Office  Hours  from  A.  M.  to  P.  M. 
If    you   haven't   got    the    dis 
ease   you  want,  ask  for  it.     Bills 
collected  in  advance. 


The  sign  being  up,  1  looked  about  me 
for  a  victim.     Going  down  to  the  pump 


e 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   2< 

for  a  drink  of  spring  water,  I  saw  t 
farmer  who  worked  our  farm  on  shares 
("sheers"  he  called  ii)  leaning  up  against 
the  door  of  the  harn.  He  looked  pale  and 
hollow-eyed. 

"What's  the  matter.  (  I  rancor?"  said  I; 
"you  don't  look  well." 

"1  ain't  well,  nut  her,"  he  answered;  "I 
was  took  last  night  with  me  stmmnick, 
and  the  pains  ain't  gone  yet.  They're:  jest 
tearin'  me  to  pieces.'' 

"I'm    something    of    a    doctor,    (Iran- 

ger  - 

"lie  you,  ^liss?  Well,  now!"  interrupt 
ing. 

"Yes,  and  I'll  fix  YOU  up  in  a  minute. 
I  know  just  what'll  cure  you." 

"Well,  I  never." 

".lust  YOU  wait  here  and  I'll  run  fetch 
it,"  and  oil'  I  ran  to  t  he  house. 

I  remembered  a  certain  mixture  that 
mv  mother  gave  us  when  we  had  colics 
and  such  things,  and  dashing  into  the 
closet  where  the  medicines  were  kept,  I 


298  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

seized  the  bottle,  and  then  darting  into 
the  kitchen  grabbed  a  large  kitchen  spoon 
and  ran  back  to  the  suffering  Granger.  I 
always  moved  quickly,  and  this  time,  be 
ing  a  doctor  with  a  patient  on  my  hands, 
I  fairly  flew  over  the  ground.  I  found 
my  victim  waiting  for  inc. 

"Here  you  are,  Granger,"  said  I,  pour 
ing  out  a  heaping  spoonful. 

"Ain't  that  a  good  deal?"  said  he, 
doubtfully. 

"Xot  a  bit  too  much  for  a  man  in  such 
pain  as  you're  in.  Take  it  all  and  lick  the 
spoon." 

lie  took  the  spoon  from  my  hand  and 
swallowed  its  contents  at  a  gulp,  making 
horrible  grimaces  as  it  went  down. 

"It  tastes  awful/'  said  Granger,  with  a 
look  of  agony;  "my  stummick's  a-fire." 

"Xonsense,  Granger,  mother  gives  it  to 
us  children  all  the  time,  and  we  think  it's 
lovely." 

"What's  one  man's  meat's  another 
man's  pizen,"  he  replied,  the  tears  starting 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   2W 

to  his  eyes;  "I  guess  I'll  hurry  home;  I'm 
feeliif  wus  instedcr  better,"  and  oil'  he 
\\  cut. 

1  was  rather  disgusted  and  walked  liack 
to  tlie  house  with  my  medicine,  thinking 
that  as  men  were  such  poor  patients  I  had 
better  conline  my  practice  to  women. 
Later  in  the  day  Mrs.  (Jranger  sent  over 
from  the  farmhouse  to  know  if  my  mother, 
who  was  considered  a  medical  aulhor- 
itv  in  the  neighborhood,  would  not 
come  over  and  see  her  husband.  She  went 
at  once,  I  t  rot  ting  by  her  side. 

.Mrs.  (Irauger  met  us  at  the  door. 

"Oh,  .Mis'  (iilbert,"  said  she,  wringing 
her  hands.  "Mv  ole  man's  took  awful 
Hiice  ^liss  Nell  gave  him  that  stulT.  lie's 
jest  rollin"  with  pain  and  hollerin'  like  a 
pig  at  kil tin"  1  line." 

".Nell,"  said  my  mother,  "what  did  you 
give  M  r.  ( J  ranker;'" 

"The  mixture  that  vou  alwavs  give  us 
when  we  have  'stumuiv  cakes." 

"It's    verv    st  raiiLi'r,"    .-aid    mv    mother. 


3°°  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

musingly;  "that  is  an  excellent  medicine. 
I  never  knew  it  to  affect  any  one  as  it  has 
Mr.  Granger.  Let  me  see  him."  So  she 
and  Mrs.  Granger  retired  to  the  farmer's 
bedroom,  and  did  all  that  was  possible  to 
alleviate  his  sufferings,  while  I  sat  outside 
and  waited.  After  a  while  my  mother 
came  out  looking  anxious,  and  we  walked 
home  without  much  conversation.  When 
we  reached  the  house  she  said: 

"Nell,  are  you  quite  sure  that  you  gave 
Mr.  Granger  the  cholera  mixture?'' 

"I'm  positive,"  said  I.  "It  was  the 
same  bottle,  exactly.  I  got  it  from  the 
right-hand  corner  of  the  second  shelf 3" 

"What!"  exclaimed  my  mother,  run 
ning  into  the  house  and  to  the  medicine 
closet,  I  at  her  heels. 

"There  it  is,"  said  I,  pointing  with  pride 
to  the  bottle.  My  mother  took  it  in  her 
hand  and  shook  her  head  solemnly. 

"It  is  as  I  feared,"  said  she.  "Xell, 
you  have  given  poor  Granger  the  furni 
ture  polish!" 


XXTT. 

J  AM  happy  to  say  that  CJ ranger  got 
well:  lint  I  had  my  lesson,  and  took  down 
the  doctor's  sign  from  my  door  and  re 
turned  the  original  one.  The  story  got 
out  and  L  was  unmercifully  ehafl'ed,  l»y  no 
one  more  than  our  family  physician,  who 
called  out  from  his  gig  as  I  passed  him  on 
Main  street: 

"I  say.  Xell,  do  yon  polish  furniture 
with  cholera  mixture  up  at  your  house?" 
and  brf'nre  I  could  reply  he  would  he  gone, 
leaving  a  trail  of  laughter  behind  him. 

(i  ranger  was  very  nice  about  it.  and  said 
that  after  all  lie  wouldn't  wonder  if  fur 
niture  polish,  taken  internally,  wasn't  a 
bad  thing.  It  made  him  pretty  sick,  to 
be  sure:  but  that's  just  what  he  needed, 
lie  was  a  strong  man,  but  he  didn't  look 
it.  "Tougher  iicr  a  pine-knot,  '  he  said  of 
himself,  and  I'm  inclined  to  think  that  he 


302  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

was,  after  the  test  that  I  put  his  strength 
to.  He  had  a  sallow  complexion,  with 
hair  of  the  same  neutral  tint,  and  a  largo, 
thin  nose,  with  a  division  that  came  well 
down  like  the  centerhoard  of  a  yacht. 
Strange  to  say,  his  nose  was  usually  pale, 
and  stood  out  in  marked  contrast  to  the 
rest  of  his  face.  It  always  reminded  me 
of  a  cuttlefish  hone,  and  I  wondered 
whether,  if  he  should  go  too  near  a  hird 
cage,  the  birds  would  peck  at  it.  I  used  to 
make  great  fun  of  Granger's  nose,  but 
after  the  way  he  behaved  about  the  dose  I 
gave  him,  I  never  spoke  of  him  but  with 
great  respect.  He  certainly  was  of  a  most 
forgiving  disposition. 

Granger  was  something  of  a  humorist, 
too.  I  was  talking  to  him  one  day  about 
a  man  who  lived  half  a  mile  up  the  road 
who  used  to  pray  so  loud  that  we  could 
hear  him  at  our  house. 

"I  don't  see  why  he  can't  say  his 
prayers  to  himself  and  not  shout  so  loud," 
I  remarked. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  3°3 

"He  has  tor  holler!" 

'•Has  to?" 

''Yes.  lie  has  tor,  and  I  rruess  of  you 
lived  as  i'er  from  (lawd  as  ho  does,  you'd 
hev  to  holler,  too,  if  you  wanted  him  to 
hear  yer." 

I  hadn't  looked  at  it  in  that  li»'ht  be 
fore,  hut  I  dare  say  (i ranker  was  riidit. 

After  the  furniture  polish  episode,  I  dc- 
eided  that  I  was  not  horn  to  he  a  doctor, 
so  I  decided  that  I  would  he  an  editor. 
Xo  sooner  thought  of  than  done.  I  in 
vited  contributions  from  Marty  and  others 
and  hei/an  printing  at  once,  which,  as  I 
printed  witli  a  pen.  was  easy  enough.  Tin1 
paper  was  called 

TIIK   I-' A IR   YIKYV   KMI'OinrM, 

and  there  was  only  one  copy. of  each  issue. 
T  contributed  the  editorials,  which  were 
verv  much  in  the  vein  of  our  local  weekly, 
and  I  also  supplied  the  news  columns.  To 
be  timelv.  I  was  obliged  to  anticipate  local 
happenings,  and  take  my  chances  on  their 
oil. 


3°4  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

Marty  contributed  a  story  about  a  girl 
named  Louise  Livingstone,  who  was  so 
overcome  by  something — I  forget  what— 
that  she  lay  in  a  swoon  for  twenty-four 
hours.  She  also  contributed  a  poem  in 
blank  verse,  of  which  I  can  only  remem 
ber  these  lines: — 

"Pierced  by  the  murderer's  glittering  steel, 

she  fell ; 
Her  blood  a  crimson  stream  did  flow." 

Marty  always  had  a  taste  for  the  melo 
dramatic. 

The  one  copy  of  the  Emporium  was 
passed  around  for  different  people  to  read, 
even  going  down  to  the  Army  of  the  Po 
tomac  for  my  father  to  see,  and  I  doubt 
if  any  one  enjoyed  it  more.  He  must  have 
smiled  to  see  his  own  tastes  cropping  out 
in  his  daughter. 

The  success  of  the  Emporium  (every 
one  wanted  to  borrow  it)  encouraged  me 
to  write  something  for  a  real  paper.  After 
much  difficulty  I  wrote  a  story  which  I 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  3°5 

sent  to  a  Xe\v  York  weekly.  It  was  an 
impossible,  sentimental  thing-,  Imt  it  got 
published,  though  not  paid  for.  The 
paper  that  published  it  died  not  long  ago. 
If  it  had  died  sooner  I  should  have  known 
what  killed  it. 

Printing  the  Emporium  kept  me  pretty 
busy,  but  like  a  wise  editor  I  took  an  oc 
casional  vacation.  These  vacation  days 
were  usually  spent  at  Spring  Hill  farm, 
win-re  a  distant  relation  of  mv  mother's 
lived.  This  farm  was  about  ill  roe  miles 
from  on i1  bouse  by  the  road,  but  not  more 
than  two  "as  the  crow  Hies."  It  was  the 
track  of  the  crow  that  we  children  took, 
for  it  brought  us  through  orchards  and 
over  brooks,  and  was  in  every  way  much 
plrasantrr  than  the  sandy  highway. 

There  was  no  place  that  we  loved  to 
visit  more  than  Spring  llill  farm,  for 
Cousin  Mary  (I  really  never  discovered 
the  exact  relationship)  was  the  sort  of 
hostess  that  children  love.  She  let  us  do 
exactly  as  we  pleased.  \\  e  could  mount 


3°6  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

the  colts  bareback,  ride  in  the  hay  carts 
and  have  good  things  to  eat  whenever  we 
wanted  to.  Cousin  Mary  was  bound 
down  by  no  rules.  She  farmed  her 
own  place  after  her  own  ideas, 
which  I  regret  to  say  were  not  very  prac 
tical;  but  she  was  satisfied  because  she 
was  doing  what  she  wanted  to  do.  She 
would  call  a  man  from  the  plough  to  post 
a  letter  in  town,  and  she  would  make  the 
cook  leave  the  kitchen  at  the  busiest  time 
to  wait  upon  her.  "Kules  were  made  for 
slaves,"  she  would  say,  and  we  children 
applauded  her  sentiments  to  the  echo. 

I  remember  once  asking  her  what  had 
become  of  a  very  excellent  cook  whom  she 
had  had  the  last  time  I  was  at  the  farm. 

"Oil,  that  woman/'  she  replied.  "She 
was  a  most  impossible  person.  I  was  ob 
liged  to  get  rid  of  her.  She  insisted  upon 
having  meals  on  time.  I  couldn't  stand  it. 
Fancy  thinking  that  because  you  had 
dinner  yesterday  at  one,  you  wanted  it 
to-day  at  the  same  hour  !  I  want  my 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   3°7 

meals  when  I  am  ready  for  them;  it  may 
he  a  (lill'erent  hour  every  day,  hut  that  is 
my  affair." 

We  children  knew  this  to  our  sorrow. 
\Ye  wei'e  used  to  a  one  o'clock  dinner  at 
home,  and  would  be  ravenous  at  that  hour; 
but,  as  likely  as  not,  would  have  to  wait 
I  ill  three  or  four  when  we  were  at  Cousin 
Mary's.  However,  we  tilled  up  on  water 
melon,  which  was  better  than  nothing, 
lint  when  the  dinner  did  come  it  was  as 
good  as  it  was  welcome,  particularly  when 
it  was  topped  oil'  with  apple  dumplings. 
Apple  dumplings,  well  sugared  and  cov 
ered  with  thick  sour  cream,  were  the 
greatest  delicacy  you  can  imagine.  It  was 
the  sour  cream  that  made  them  delectable. 

('oiisin  Mary's  house  was  furnished  en 
tirely  with  antique  furniture — beautiful 
pieces  that  had  been  in  the  family  for  gen 
erations.  Hut  they  were  very  much  out 
of  repair.  She  had  any  quantity  of  old 
silver,  too,  which  the  farm  hands  carried 
in  a  clothes  basket  to  her  bedroom  every 


3°8  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

night.  She  hired  any  men  who  came  along 
to  work,  and  she  was  alone  in  the  house, 
with  only  women  servants  and  these 
strange  men.  That  she  was  never  robbed 
has  always  been  a  mystery  to  me.  I 
think  that  a  good  deal  of  her  silver  was 
stolen,  a  piece  at  a  time,  but  she  did  not 
seem  to  miss  it. 

One  of  the  great  sights  of  Spring  Hill 
was  the  beehives  under  Cousin  Mary's 
bedroom  floor. .  When  it  was  time  to 
gather  the  honey  she  would  raise  the 
boards  in  the  floor,  under  the  east  window, 
and  there,  lying  thick  in  the  comb,  would 
be  the  golden  honey.  What  fun  it  was  to 
get  it  out  and  pile  it  high  on  the  old  India 
dish! 

One  could  write  an  entire  book  about 
Spring  Hill  and  Cousin  Mary,  for  the  sub 
ject  overflows  with  romantic  interest.  It 
really  needs  the  pen  of  a  Hawthorne,  but  1 
may  be  tempted  some  day  to  see  what  I 
can  do  with  it. 

The  house  stood  on  a  level  with  the 


Autobiography  ot  a  Tomboy.   3°9 

road,  but  the  land  dropped  abruptly  at 
the  back".  A  marshy  meadow,  Hanked  by 
hills,  lay  like  a  great  amphitheatre  at  tin- 
foot,  and  through  this  meadow,  half  a 
mile  auav,  ran  a  creek  that  poured  into 
the  river  at  Birdlington.  \Ve  children 
were  never  allowed  to  explore  this  marsh, 
but  I  thought  it  would  be  a  good  idea,  and 
not  unattended  by  adventure,  to  row  up 
the  creek  and  go  over  to  Cousin  Mary's  by 
wav  of  the  meadow,  doing  on  a  picnic 
party  up  the  creek  one  summer  day 
brought  the  idea  again  forcibly  to  my 
mind.  After  we  had  eaten  a  round  of 
hard-boiled  eggs,  sandwiches  and  dough 
nuts,  wa>hed  down  with  birch  IMHT,  1  sug 
gested  going  over  to  Cousin  Mary's  "  "cross 
lots."  Those  who  knew  the  neighborhood 
best  said  that  it  was  impossible,  that  the 
meadow  was  too  marshy,  and  that  I  would 
get  stuck  in  a  bog. 

"Fiddlesticks,"  said  F,  "you're  all  afraid 
of  getting  your  feet  wet.  If  no  one  will 
go  wit  h  me.  Fll  go  alone.'" 


3'°  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

Then  up  and  spoke  a  gallant  youth,  one 
Williams  hy  name. 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  getting  my  feet  wet," 
said  lie;  "I'll  go  with  you." 

So  off  we  started.  It  was  easy  enough 
at  first.  We  jumped  gayly  from  one  little 
mound  of  grass  to  another,  until  Cousin 
Mary's  was  in  sight. 

"There's  the  house,  now,"  I  said,  point 
ing  it  out  to  my  companion,  "and  here  we 
are.  How  silly  of  the  others.  I  knew  it 
was  easy  enough.  Some  people  are  so 
easily  scared.  I'm  not  that  kind.  Excel 
sior  !*'  I  exclaimed,  jumping  for  another 
hit  of  firm  ground.  But  1  was  too  con 
fident.  Instead  of  landing  on  the  mound, 
I  went  into  the  hog.  The  sensation  was 
not  pleasant.  I  struggled  to  get  out,  hut 
there  was  apparently  no  hottom.  I  seemed 
to  he  sinking  into  the  earth.  Young  Wil 
liams  was  about  to  jump  in  to  my  rescue, 
but  I  warned  him  off. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  and  give  me  the 
end  of  your  stick."  Fortunately,  he  had 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  3" 

cut  a  stout  staiT  when  we  set  out.  ''If  you 
jump  in  we  may  hoth  sink  through  to 
China;  but  if  you  are  on  solid  ground  you 
may  lie  able  to  pull  me  out."  l-'videni  ly, 
he  thought  my  advice  good.  I  clutched  the 
en'd  of  the  stick.  He  pulled  ;iud  I  pulled, 
but  I  did  not  budge.  Then  we  halloed, 
but  no  one  heard  us.  We  could  hear  the 
bells  on  the  cows  grazing  in  an  upper 
meadow,  and  once  we  saw  one  of  the  farm 
hands  getting  a  drink  at  the  pump  be 
hind  the  house.  We  called  again.  Our 
voices  echoed  against  the  hillside.  I 
was  pretty  well  frightened  by  this  time. 
I  wanted  Williams  to  go  to  the  farm  for 
help,  but  he  wouldn't  leave  me. 

"You  might  be  sunk  out  of  sight  by  the 
time  I  got  back,  and  we'd  never  find  your 
body." 

My  body!  A  cheerful  suggestion  to  one 
in  my  sad  plight. 

''You'd  better  stay,  then,''  I  decided. 
''Lot's  call  again."  So  we  called  loud  and 
loniT.  I  saw  Cousin  Marv  come  to  the 


312  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

door  and  look  out  over  the  meadow.  We 
called  louder  than  ever,  only  to  see  her 
walk  back  into  the  house. 

I  was  now  up  to  my  waist  in  the  bog, 
and,  though  it  was  summer,  I  was  shiver 
ing  with  the  cold.  Soon  I  should  sink 
deeper  and  deeper.  Williams  could  point 
out  the  place  where  I  sank,  and  perhaps 
they  could  recover  my  body.  Perhaps 
they  couldn't.  It  was  a  good  many 
thousand  miles  to  China,  and  I  was  only 
a  little  over  five  feet  high.  I  thought  of 
my  mother  sitting  calmly  at  homo,  little 
suspecting  my  horrible  fate.  What  an  ex 
citement  there  would  be  in  the  village 
when  the  news  of  my  more  or  less  untime 
ly  taking-off  was  known!  There  would  bo 
a  funeral — but  no  corpse.  How  strange 
that  would  be! 

"I'm  sinking  all  the  time,"  I  said  dole 
fully. 

"You  can't  sink  out  of  sight  while  yon 
hold  on  to  the  stick,"  Williams  replied  en 
couragingly.  "I'm  firm-footed  here;  you 
can't  drag  me  in." 


Autobiography  of  a    Tomboy.   3'.3 

"That's  all  right,"  I  argued:  "hut  I  can 
sink  in  up  to  my  head,  and  then  it  won't 
take  much  to  make  me  go  under." 

"You  won't  die  till  your  time  comes," 
said  he,  trying  to  cheer  me. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  come,''  I  answered, 
struggling  in  the  hog.  "1  wisli  I  could 
see  my  mother." 

I  fell  a  lump  in  my  throat,  hut  1  didn't 
want  to  cry  yet,  though  I  thought  my 
position  a  very  sad  one.  Tragic  as  the 
:-it  nation  was.  my  sense  of  humor  could 
not  he  do\\  lied. 

"If  I'm  drowned  in  this  mud,  Williams, 
tell  them  to  write  on  niv  tombstone, 
'Though  lo>t  to  sight,  to  memory  dear.'" 

"Don't."  said  Williams:  "it's  no  joking 
matter." 

"I  know  it  isn't,"  I  replied  with  a  laugh 
that  was  half  a  soh.  "Kven  if  I  don't  sink 
over  mv  head,  we  mav  he  here  all  night." 

As  I  spoke.  I  heard  the  voice  of  a  man 
calling  to  a  cow. 

"Oh,   Williams,  that's   Khene/er  calling 


3'4  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

the  cows  home.  Let  us  shout  at  the  top 
of  our  lungs." 

"Eben-e-zcr-r-r-r!*'  rang  out  over  the 
meadow  once  and  again. 

Then  to  our  great  joy  we  saw  Cousin 
Mary's  burly  farmer  coming  out  from  he- 
hind  a  clump  of  trees  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  He  stood  looking  over  the  meadow. 

"Eben-e-zer-r-r-r!"  We  waved  our  hats 
frantically,  and  he  saw  us. 

"By  crackie!  ''  he  exclaimed,  running 
up  to  us,  and  picking  his  way  as  lie  ran. 
"I  thought  it  couldn't  be  the  ole  cow  call- 
in'  my  name.  What's  the  matter?'7 

"Xell  Gilbert's  stuck  in  the  bog!"' 

Then  Ebenezcr  saw  me.  ''By  crackie!  I 
should  say  she  was.  Well,  the  next  thing 
to  do  is  to  git  her  out.  You  wait  here  an' 
we'll  soon  do  that." 

Then  he  disappeared  up  the  hill,  and 
soon  appeared  again,  with  one  of  the  farm 
hands,  dragging  a  stone  boat — a  broad, 
flat-bottomed  sled,  used  for  hauling  stone. 
Ebenezer  and  Jake  got  the  sled  up  to 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   ->'5 

\vhorc  1  was  planted.  All  my  courage  was 
with  me  again,  for  I  knew  now  that  I  was 
safe.  Kbenezer  put  his  arms  tight  around 
me,  and  pulled.  I  gave  way  a  little,  hut 
didn't  clear  the  mud. 

"Ketch  me  tight  'roiin'  the  neck,'1  lie 
instructed,  and  I  obeyed.  He  gripped  me 
around  the  waist.  "Altogether,  pull!" 
There  was  the  noise  of  mighty  suction, 
and  I  was  landed  safe  and  sound  on  the 
sled:  bill  1  could  scarcely  move.  Tor  the 
weight  of  black  mud  thrt  clung  to  me. 
Kbenezer  made  me  sit  on  the  sled,  which 
he  and  .lake  and  Williams  drew  over  the 
marsh  and  up  the  hill. 

Such  an  excitement  as  mv  appearance 
made  when  Cousin  Mary  and  her  house 
hold  saw  me!  The  colored  cook  said  that 
I  looked  for  all  the  world  like  a  tar  baby. 
Cousin  Mary  was  alarmed  lest  I  had 
caught  mv  death  of  cold.  She  wanted  me 
to  go  immediately  to  her  room  and  be  put 
to  bed,  but  I  insisted  upon  having  a  tut) 
of  hot  water  brought  into  the  woodshed, 


3l6  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

and  there  I  dropped  my  muddy  garments 
and  after  a  plunge  in  the  tub,  donned 
some  of  Cousin  Mary's  clothes  and  went 
into  the  house.  I  was  at  once  plied  with 
food  and  drink,  and  made  much  of.  Wil 
liams,  too,  had  his  share  of  attention,  for 
he  had  played  a  heroic  part  in  stand 
ing  by  me.  Cousin  Mary  wanted  him  to 
spend  the  night  at  Spring  Hill,  but  he 
thought  that  he  had  better  go  back  to  the 
village  so  that  he  could  inform  my  family 
of  my  whereabouts,  which  was  certainly 
thoughtful  of  him.  When  Cousin  Mary 
tucked  me  in  bed  that  night  she  regarded 
me  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"What  will  people  say  of  you,  now, 
Nell?"  she  queried. 

'"'They'll  say  I'm  an  old  stick-in-the- 
mud/'  I  replied,  laughing,  sleepily. 


XXIII. 

I  HAD  no\v  reached  the  advanced  a^e  of 
twelve  and  a  halt'  years,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  time  that  I  should  take  a  hand  in  the 
world's  \vork.  1  spoke  to  my  mother  on 
the  subject,  and  she  said  to  wait  till  I  had 
a  little  more  education  before  I  talked 
about  leaving  school.  'This  I  considered 
to  be  bei^inif  the  question.  I  did  not 
want  to  wait.  What  should  I  wait  for? 
Certainly  not  till  we  were  any  poorer,  for 
that  would  be  impossible.  Younger 
children  than  I  had  earned  monev.  It  was 
tune  for  me  to  seek  mv  fortune.  The 
phrase  pleased  me.  I  had  culled  it  from 
fairv  stories  and  the  dime  muds  before 
alluded  to.  Marty  was  a  <i'ood  one  to  con 
sult  in  such  matters,  so  I  decided  to  take 
her  into  mv  confidence,  even  though  she 
was  my  jn nior  \>\  t  wo  years. 

"(lood   idea."  said  she.      "It's   hiidi   lime 


3l8  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

that  we  were  seeking  our  fortunes;  we'll 
face  the  world  together.  Let  us  be  a  so 
ciety.  'The  Fortune  Seekers'  -  -  that 
sounds  well:  or  'The  Argonauters' — you 
know  they  went  in  search  of  the  golden 
fleece." 

"Golden  fleas!  No,  I  thank  you,"  said 
Marty  with  an  expression  of  disgust;  "no 
fleas  for  me  of  any  kind." 

I  explained,  but  she  would  have  none  of 
it.  "It  may  be  a  different  word,  but  it 
sounds  the  same.  I  prefer  'The  Fortune 
Seekers.' " 

As  Marty  was  a  determined  young  per 
son,  we  became  "The  Fortune  Seekers,"  a 
secret  society  of  two.  Being  the  oldest,  I 
was  president,  and  Marty  was  general 
manager,  with  the  privilege  of  casting  the 
deciding  vote  if  it  came  to  a  tie.  This 
was  her  suggestion,  and  I  yielded  without 
quite  understanding  the  situation,  for  she 
said  that  if  I  did  not  agree  she  would  im 
mediately  resign.  That  would  have  left 
me  in  a  hole.  A  society  of  two  was  select 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   3'9 

enough,  but  a  society  of  one  was  alto 
gether  too  exclusive.  We  thought  some 
thing  of  taking  Miney  in,  but  decided  that 
she  was  too  young,  being  only  eight  years 
old,  so  we  made  her  an  honorary  mem 
ber  instead.  This  meant  that  she  was  to 
do  Avhat  she  was  told,  and  ask  no  ques 
tions. 

The  society  now  being  formed,  the  next 
thing  was  to  decide  upon  a  plan  of  action. 

"We  must  live  up  to  our  name,"  said 
Marty,  "and  seek  our  fortunes." 

"Fortunes  must  be  sought  if  they  are 
to  be  found,"  said  I,  sentent  iously,  as  be 
came  a  president. 

''I  move,"  continued  Marty,  ''that  we 
start  at  once — to-morrow  morning.  Let 
the  society  meet  in  Thompson's  woods  at 
six  o'clock." 

We  talked  over  our  plans  without 
Minev:  she  was  so  voting  we  were  afraid 
that  she  might  tell,  and  so  spoil  every 
thing.  The  next  morning  we  got  up  with 
the  sun  and  coaxed  the  cook  to  give  us  an 


320  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

early  breakfast.  Before  our  mother  was 
out  of  her  bed  we  were  in  Thompson's 
woods,  Miney  at  our  heels.  Marty  and  I 
cut  stout  staffs  and  tied  in  our  handker 
chiefs  the  few  things  that  we  brought 
away.  I  insisted  upon  this,  for  in  every 
book  that  I  had  read,  every  lad  who 
started  out  into  the  world  to  seek  his 
fortune  had  all  his  worldly  goods  tied  up 
in  a  cotton  pocket-handkerchief.  It  was 
the  correct  thing  for  such  occasions.  We 
did  not  take  much  with  us.  The  contents 
of  my  handkerchief  consisted  of  a  tooth 
brush  and  the  photographs  of  my  father 
and  mother.  Marty  had  some  ribbons  and 
a  toothbrush  in  hers. 

"It's  time  to  start,"  said  Marty,  the 
managing  director  of  the  expedition. 

"I  don't  want  to  go,"  whimpered  Miney, 
who  was  frightened  by  the  solemnity  of 
our  proceedings. 

"We'll  have  to  take  her,"  I  whispered 
to  Marty,  "or  she'll  run  back  home  and 
give  the  whole  thing  away." 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  321 

"Stop  crying,  and  prepare  to  march," 
said  Marty,  severely,  to  Miney.  Then 
Marty  and  I  raised  our  staffs  to  heaven 
and  vowed  that  we  would  not  return  un 
til  our  fortunes  were  found. 

''Forward,  march!"  commanded  Marty, 
and  off  we  started,  little  Miney  clinging  to 
my  hand.  AYhcn  we  reached  the  fence 
that  cut  off  the  woods  from  the  highway 
I  paused  on  the  top  rail. 

"Don't  you  think  that  mother  will  be 
awfully  worried  when  she  finds  that  we 
have  gone?"  I  queried,  beginning  to  feel 
a  little  prick  of  conscience. 

"At  iirst  she  will,"  answered  Marty, 
"hut  when  we  come  home  with  chests  of 
gold  to  lay  at  her  feet  she  will  be  very  glad 
that  we  went.  It  won't  be  long;  not  more 
than  a  few  years." 

"Are  years  as  long  as  days?"  asked 
Miney  in  a  trembling  voice. 

\Ye  climbed  the  fence  and  started 
boldly  up  the  turnpike.  Marty  and  F  wore 
big  straw  hats,  while  Miney  wore  a  blue 


322  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

snnbonnet.  A  mile  up  the  road  we 
readied  the  toll-gate.  The  gate-keeper 
regarded  us  curiously. 

"Where  are  you  kids  goin'?"  he  asked. 

"To  seek  our  fortunes,"  I  replied, 
proudly.  The  man  laughed  as  he  swung 
the  gate  open  for  us  to  pass  through. 

"You  won't  find  it  'round  these  parts." 

"We  don't  expect  to,"  I  replied. 

We  had  never  been  so  far  as  the  toll- 
gate  alone,  and  felt  quite  like  explorers 
as  we  passed  it,  and  pressed  on  along  the 
dusty  road  in  the  direction  of  a  little  vil 
lage  three  miles  away.  Before  we  reached 
it  we  came  up  with  a  man  driving  a  cov 
ered  wagon. 

"I'm  awful  tired,"  said  little  Miney, 
looking  wistfully  at  the  wagon,  with  its 
one  occupant. 

I  ran  up  alongside  of  it. 

"Hello!"  I  called,  for  the  man  seemed 
to  be  asleep.  "'Will  you  give  us  a  lift?" 

He  opened  his  eyes,  looked  sleepily  at 
us  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "Jump 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   323 

in."  We  accepted  his  invitation  without 
more  pressing.  I  sat  in  front  with  the 
man,  while  Marty  and  Miney  occupied 
I  lie  hack  seat.  The  man  stayed  awake 
long  enough  to  tell  us  that  lie  was  "dead 
sleepy,"  having  "druv"  all  the  way  from 
"The  P>raneh"  since  the  evening  hefore. 
lie  had  heen  driving  all  night  to  take  a 
lady  from  ''The  l>ranch"  to  see  her 
lirother,  who  was  dying  at  Birdlington, 
and  he  was  "jest  pegged  out." 

"Where  are  you  going  now?"  I  asked. 

"To  Freehold,  'Imut  thirty  mile  from 
Ilirdlington,"  he  replied. 

"We'll  go  with  you,"  I  said,  promptly. 
"I  know  a  girl  at  Freehold.  She  went  to 
our  school  last  winter.  We'll  go  and  see 
her." 

Hy  this  time  the  man  was  asleep  again, 
so  1  assumed  the  reins.  I  didn't  know  the 
way,  hut  the  horses  did,  so  that  answered 
thi'  same  purpose.  It  was  a  hot  and  dustv 
ride,  and  we  were  verv  liungrv,  hut  we 
didn't  mind.  \\  e  slaked  our  thirst  at 


324  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

wayside  springs,  and  relieved  the  gnaw- 
ings  of  hunger  by  eating  the  apples  that 
grew  along  the  road.  Poor  little  Miney 
was  soon  as  sound  asleep  as  the  man.,  and 
while  she  slept,  with  her  head  on  Marty's 
knee,  her  sunhonnet  was  lost  from  the 
wagon. 

Just  about  dusk  we  arrived  at  the  out 
skirts  of  Freehold. 

"I  don't  go  no  further,"  said  the  man, 
"my  place  is  up  there,"  pointing  with  his 
whip,  adding  to  me,  "Jest  foller  yer  nose  a 
mile  up  the  road,  and  you'll  be  in  Free 
hold." 

We  thanked  him  and  dismounted. 
After  walking  a  mile  we  came  to  the  rail 
way  station.  We  were  not  feeling  quite 
so  joyous  as  when  we  set  out  in  the  morn 
ing. 

"I'll  ask  the  ticket  man  if  he  knows 
where  Mr.  John  Hunter,  the  father  of  the 
girl  I  know,  lives,"  and,  storing  Marty  and 
Miney  on  a  bench  in  the  waiting  room,  I 
walked  boldly  into  the  ticket  office.  The 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   325 

ticket  agent  was  counting  his  day's  re 
ceipts,  and  turned  suddenly  as  I  entered. 

"Can  YOU  tell  me  where  Mr.  John  Hun 
ter  lives?"  I  asked,  anxiously. 

''That's  easy  enough.  He  lives  five 
miles  from  here,  on  the  Red  Hank  road." 

"Five  miles  from  here!  Is  there  any 
train  going  that  way?"  I  asked,  in  a  shak 
ing  voice. 

"Xo,  not  to-night." 

"Is  there  any  train  to  Birdlington?" 

"Not  before  to-morrow." 

1  saw  visions  of  a  night  in  the  streets 
of  Freehold,  and  I  felt  the  responsibility 
of  my  two  little  sisters.  I  would  have 
given  all  my  prospects  of  fortune  for  a 
glimpse  of  my  mother  at  that  moment.  I 
was  tired,  worried  and  nervous,  and  I  be 
gan  to  cry. 

"What's  the  matter,  little  girl?"  said 
the  ticket  man  in  a  kindly  voice. 

"Nothing,"  I  answered,  wiping  my  eyes. 

"Come,  now,  something  is  the  matter. 
Tell  me,  and  perhaps  I  can  help  you. 


326  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

What's  your  name,  and  where  do  you 
live?''  I  told  him.  "Why,  I  know  your 
father  well.  Don't  you  worry  any  more. 
Tell  me  what  you're  doing  here  alouc  this 
time  o'  day.  (Jive  me  the  true  story." 

In  a  broken  voice  I  told  the  sorrowful 
talc  of  how  I  had  set  out  with  my  sisters 
to  seek  our  fortunes,  and  this  was  what 
had  come  of  it. 

"Don't  cry  any  more,  little  girl;  just 
you  stay  here  till  I  run  home  and  tell  my 
wife.  She'll  keep  you  all  night,  and  I'll 
send  you  home  to  your  ma  in  the  morn 
ing.  Cheer  up,  you're  all  right  now,"  and 
as  he  said  this  he  patted  me  on  the  cheek 
and  kissed  my  forehead.  Then  he  left  me 
to  join  my  sisters,  while  he  went  home.  I 
was  indignant.  What  right  had  he  to  kiss 
me?  No,  indeed,  I  would  not  stay  a  night 
in  that  man's  house  had  he  a  hundred 


wives ! 

cen 


Girls,"  I  said,  my  voice  trembling  with 
righteous  rage,  "I  have  been  insulted. 
That  man  kissed  me.  lie  wants  us  to  cro 


^ 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   329 

home  with  him,  but  we'll  not  do  it.  Come, 
hurry,  let's  run  down  the  track  to  Bird- 
lington,  it's  only  thirty  miles."  I  seized 
Miney's  hand  and  off  we  started. 

We  had  not  gone  more  than  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  when  I  looked  back  and  saw 
the  ticket  agent  running  up  the  track 
toward  us.  I  was  desperate,  but  deter 
mined.  Just  in  front  of  us  were  two 
colored  women  walking  leisurely  along 
the  track.  I  rushed  up  to  the  elder  one 
and  said  hurriedly: 

"I  will  explain  all  later,  but  when  that 
man  catches  up  to  us  tell  him  that  we  are 
friends  of  yours,  and  that  you  are  going  to 
keep  us  at  your  house  over  night." 

By  this  time  the  man  had  caught  up 
with  us. 

"You're  a  nice  lot  of  runaway  colts," 
said  he,  breathlessly. 

"Whatcher  want  o'  them  chillun?" 
asked  the  colored  women,  severely. 

"Only  to  take  them  back  to  my  house." 

"You  jest  let  'em  alone.     They're  frcns 


33°  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

o'  mine,  and  I'm  gwinc  to  keep  them  over 
night/' 

"All  right,  then,  if  yon  know  them,  and 
are  going  to  keep  them.  My  wife  has  a 
room  ready  for  them,  and  I  was  going  to 
keep  them  over  night,  and  send  them 
back  home  in  the  morning." 

"Yon  talk  slick  enough.  "Who  be  you, 
anyway?"  asked  the  woman. 

"I  am  the  ticket  agent  here,  and  my 
name  is  Ilolden." 

"Be  yon  Charles  Ilolden?" 

"That  is  my  name." 

"All  right,  chillun,"  said  the  woman, 
turning  to  us  with  a  chuckle;  "Charles 
Ilolden  won't  do  you  no  harm.  lie's  an 
honest  man.  I  done  his  wash  afore  he 
was  married,  and  he  never  owed  me  a 
cent."  With  such  testimony  to  his  integ 
rity  we  returned  up  the  track  with  Mr. 
Ilolden. 

"What  was  the  trouble,  child?"  he  said 
quietly  to  me.  "Was  it  that  little  em 
brace?"  I  said  that  it  was. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   3.1' 

"I  was  afraid  il  was  that;  hut  you 
looked  so  kind  o'  ])itifnl  tliat  I  felt  sorry 
For  you,  and  treated  you  just  as  I  would 
liaye  treated  one  of  my  own  children." 

So  we  made  peace,  for  lie  was  a  good, 
kind  man,  and  J  was  only  a  child. 

\\'e  found  Mrs.  Ilnldeii  prepared  for  us. 
Although  she  had  finished  her  own  sup 
per.  >he  had  one  ready  for  us.  We  did  il 
ample  justice,  for  we  were  nearly  starved, 
having  eaten  nothing  hut  apples  since  he- 
fore  six  o'clock  in  the  morning.  After 
supper  we  .-at  on  the  front  porch  with  the 
family,  and.  our  story  haying  heen  noised 
ahout.  all  the  yillage  came  up  to  have  a 
look  at  us.  I>eing  young,  and  knowing 
that  we  were  safe  now,  we  enjoyed  our 
notoriety. 

In  the  meantime,  kind  .Mr.  [[olden  had 
telegraphed  to  my  mother  that  W"  were 
safe  and  would  he  sent  home  early  the 
next  morning.  'This  was  no  doiiht  reas 
suring,  hut  what  must  have  heen  her  feel 
ings  on  learning  thai  we  were  among 
> tranters  thirty  miles  from  home! 


332  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

The  Holden  home  was  small,  and  hed- 
rooms  scarce,  so  we  were  tucked  into  a 
narrow  bed  in  a  hall  room  for  the  night. 
How  well  I  see  that  room!  Over  the  bed 
hung  a  colored  lithograph  of  the  seven 
ages  of  man.  It  was  represented  hy  steps 
going  up  and  down  thus: 


At  the  foot  on  the  left  was  the  "puling 
infant,"  and  the  ages  increased  till  we 
had  the  old  dotard  at  the  foot  of  the  steps 
on  the  right.  In  a  corner  of  the  room  was 
a  gun,  which  Miney  was  afraid  would  go 
off  in  the  night,  so  Mr.  Holden  had  to 
take  it  away  while  we  modestly  hid  under 
the  bedclothes.  We  slept  soundly  and 
were  aroused  betimes  to  catch  the  early 
train  for  Birdlington.  By  an  oversight 
we  were  not  supplied  with  towels,  but  we 
were  equal  to  the  emergency  and  dried 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  333 

ourselves  on  our  white  petticoats.  Mrs. 
Ilolden  gave  ns  a  good  breakfast  and  pro 
vided  Miney  (who  had  made  her  entrance 
into  Freehold  bare-headed)  with  a  Shaker 
bonnet.  It  was  much  too  large,  and  the 
little  face,  with  its  big  gray  eyes,  was  quite 
lost  in  its  depths.  Half  the  village  fol 
lowed  us  to  the  train.  We  took  our  honors 
as  though  they  were  well  won.  Mr.  ITol- 
den  passed  us  over  the  railroad  to  Bird- 
lington,  and  he  must  have  passed  our  story 
on  as  well,  for  there  were  people,  to  meet 
us  at  every  station,  at  whom  we  grinned 
and  waved  our  handkerchiefs. 

As  we  neared  Birdlington  T  began  to 
experience  mingled  emotions.  I  wondered 
how  our  mother  had  taken  our  flighi,  and 
1  wondered  how  Aunt  Maria  was  going  to 
take  our  return! 

As  the  train  slowed  into  the  station  I 
si  nek  my  head  out  of  the  window  to  see 
how  the  land  lay,  and  caught  the  eye  of 
Aunt  Maria.  1  did  not  like  its  expression. 
It  made  me  feel  as  though  I  would  rather 


334  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

return  to  Freehold  than  to  land  at  Bird- 
lington,  hut  there  was  no  escape.  I  had 
barely  stepped  out  upon  the  platform, 
Marty  and  Miney  close  behind  me,  when 
Aunt  Maria  seized  me  by  the  arm. 

"Hello,  aunty,"  said  I,  jauntily. 

"You  dreadful  girl!  Your  poor  mother!" 
was  all  the  remark  she  vouchsafed. 

I  turned  to  go  up  Main  street,  but  she 
jerked  me  in  an  opposite  direction.  She 
did  not  propose  being  disgraced  by  walk 
ing  through  the  principal  street  of  the 
town  with  such  a  cavalcade,  so  we  were 
marched  up  a  back  street,  much  to  our 
disgust.  Our  fame,  however,  had  preceded 
us,  even  to  the  back  streets,  for  windows 
were  thrown  up  and  grinning  faces  thrust 
out  all  along  the  line  of  march. 

"How's  mother,  aunty?"  I  asked. 

"You  may  well  ask — your  poor 
mother!"  was  all  the  reply  she  made,  and 
we  proceeded  in  grim  silence,  Aunt 
Maria  holding  me  tight  by  the  arm,  as 
though  she  feared  I  would  run  away  again. 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  335 

\Ve  Found  our  mother  pros!  rated  from 
the  fright  slie  had  liad  on  our  account. 
\\'e  \vere  missed  soon  after  our  departure, 
hut  much  time  \vas  lost  in  looking  for  us, 
as  it  was  supposed  that  \ve  had  ^'one  to 
Spring  Hill.  Search  was  made  in  every 
direction.  The  town  crier  was  out  with 
his  hell,  and  every  one  \vas  on  the  look 
out.  As  night  approached  my  mother 
was  almost  frantic,  and  while  Mr.  IIol- 
deii's  telegram  was  a  pvat  relief,  it  was 
not  altogether  reassuring,  for  what  were 
we  doiii!_r  thii'tv  miles  from  home! 

It  was  decided  that  as  I  was  the  oldest 
I  must  he  the  ringleader,  and  therefore 
the  severest  punishment  was  dealt  out  to 
me.  I  was  sentenced  to  keep  my  room  for 
a  week,  than  which  no  prater  punish 
ment  could  have  been  inflicted  upon  me. 
Martv  was  kept  in  her  room  for  two  days. 
MiiK'V,  hcini;'  so  VOIIIILT,  was  not  punished 
:il  all. 


336  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

girls  used  to  take  pity  on  me  and  come 
under  my  window  to  talk. 

Michaud  found  this  out  to  my  sorrow, 
and  he  used  to  come  under  my  window 
also.  He  had  heard  the  story  of  the  run 
away,  and  he  would  call  up  at  me,  "Tirty 
mile!  Tirty  mile!"  until  I  was  fain  to 
empty  my  water  pitcher  on  his  head. 


XXIV. 

MY  escapade  was  regarded  much  more 
seriously  by  my  family  than  it  was  by  me. 
My  father  wrote  me  a  long  letter  from  the 
army,  which  made  me  feel  very  unhappy 
for  the  grief  I  had  caused  him,  and  when 
my  mother  regarded  me  with  sad,  anxious 
eyes,  1  felt  very  repentant.  As  for  the 
village  people  they  had  their  opinion  of 
me,  and  it  was  not  a  flattering  one.  The 
gallows  or  the  jail  seemed  to  them  to  lie 
at  the  end  of  the  course  I  was  pursuing. 

A  family  council  resulted  in  a  decision 
to  send  me  to  boarding  school.  Xot  to 
the  one  in  Birdlington,  but  to  one  in  the 
southern  part  of  the  State,  presided  over 
by  a  woman  of  rare  force  of  character, 
who  was  conspicuous  as  a  disciplina 
rian.  I  expressed  a  willingness  to  go,  but 
I  insisted  that  I  should  have  a  room  to 
myself.  I  had  always  had  one,  and  the 
337 


338  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

idea  of  a  room  shared  by  others  was  very 
repugnant  to  me.  I  did  not  care  how 
small  it  was  so  long  as  it  was  my  own.  My 
simple  request  gave  rise  to  all  sorts  of 
stories  of  my  eccentricities,  hut  I  did  not 
care  so  that  I  got  the  room. 

Ivy  Lodge  was  a  comparatively  small 
school,  of  about  thirty  hoarders,  and  I 
was  very  happy  there.  My  room  was  tiny, 
but  it  served.  ]  brought  with  me  some 
books,  a  student's  lamp  (not  that  I  was  a 
student),  and  a  tin  tub,  popularly  known 
as  a  "hat,"  for  I  could  not  be  content  with 
out  my  daily  cold  bath.  This  was  regarded 
as  my  most  striking  eccentricity.  Bath 
ing  was  not  the  daily  habit  in  those  days 
that  it  is  to-day,  probably  for  the  reason 
that  there  were  not  then  the  same  con 
veniences  that  we  now  regard  as  necessary 
to  our  health  and  comfort.  Just  outside 
of  my  window  was  a  shed,  and  on  the  roof 
of  that  shed  I  spread  my  bedding,  mat 
tress  included,  every  morning  for  an  air 
ing.  This  was  regarded  with  much 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   339 


over  the  foot  of  their  beds  when  they  left 
their  rooms.  I  was  laughed  at  and  teased 
a  good  deal,  but  T  did  not  care,  I  had  my 
\vay. 

The  shed  under  mv  window  was  a  great 
convenience,  for  it  enabled  me  to  climb 
<»nt  after  we  were  supposed  to  be  in  bed 
and  asleep,  and  visit  the  other  girls  in 
their  moms.  I  was  an  expert  (-limber,  and 
did  deeds  that  make  me  shiver  to  look 
back  upon.  1  remember  one  eventful 
night  climbing  by  the  waterspout  up  to 
the  window  of  a  girl's  room  where  we 
were  going  to  have  a  pickle  party.  The 
pipe  broke  under  the  unwonted  strain, 
just  as  I  was  about  to  pull  myself  into  the 
mom.  and  fell  with  a  sharp  crash  on  the 
tin  roof  which  was  just  above  the  head 
teacher's  room.  Before  the  irirls  could 
pull  me  iii.  we  heard  the  sharp  scratching 
of  a  match  and  the  soft  Hip-Hap  of  bed 
room  sii ppers  on  the  stairs. 


34°  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"Jump  into  bed  for  your  lives,  girls, 
Miss  Chamberlain's  coming,"  I  whispered. 

"What  about  you?''  they  asked,  anx 
iously. 

"I'm  all  right.  I'll  hang  here  till  she's 
gone."  So  they  jumped  quickly  into  their 
beds,  and  when  Miss  Chamberlain  opened 
the  door  and  peered  about  by  the  light  of 
a  flickering  candle  in  her  hand,  the  room 
was  as  quiet  as  the  grave,  the  girls  ap 
parently  sleeping  the  sleep  of  youth  and 
innocence.  Miss  Chamberlain  was  a  kind, 
unsuspicious  soul,  and  judged  things  by 
the  way  they  looked.  Seeing  nothing  out 
of  the  ordinary,  she  was  about  to  close  the 
door  and  take  ber  departure,  when  my 
strength  gave  out.  I  could  no  longer  keep 
my  hold  on  the  window  sill,  and  down  I 
went,  crash,  bang,  on  the  tin  roof  below. 
It  was  a  slanting  roof  two  stories  from  the 
ground.  I  thought  that  my  hour  had 
come,  and  lived  a  lifetime  as  I  rolled  over 
and  over.  Luckily,  I  dropped  on  the  side 
nearest  my  own  room,  and  when  I  came 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  3-1' 

to  the  edge,  by  a  dexterous  turn,  landed 
on  my  feet  on  the  roof  of  the  shed  only  a 
few  feet  below.  In  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye  I  was  in  my  room,  but  1  was  not  alone, 
The  noise  of  my  descent  upon  the  roof 
had  awaked  the  household,  and  a  dozen 
night-robed  figures  greeted  me. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  asked  the  bead 
t earlier,  severely. 

''I  think  that  1  must  have  been  walking 
in  my  sleep,"  I  replied,  yawning  and  rub 
bing  my  eyes. 

"Do  you  usually  sleep  in  your  clothes:'" 
asked  the  teacher,  sarcastically,  referring 
to  the  fact  that  I  was  fully  dressed. 

"Not  always,"  I  replied,  unabashed; 
"but  it's  convenient  in  case  of  lire." 

"You  may  report  to  the  principal  in  the 
morning.  Come,  young  ladies!"  and  the 
night-robed  squadron,  preceded  by  the 
bead  teacher  in  her  flapping  slippers,  dis 
appeared  down  the  dark  hall. 

T  did  some  little  studying  while  at  this 
school,  and  made  a  reputation  with  my 


342   Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

"compositions."  I  remember  two  in  par 
ticular  that  were  considered  quite  aston 
ishing  in  one  of  my  years  and  tastes.  One 
was  on  the  development  of  genius  in 
Benjamin  West,  a  subject  upon  which  I 
was  sublimely  ignorant;  the  other  was 
called  "A  Voyage  to  the  Moon,"  and  here 
again  my  ignorance  came  to  my  rescue. 
This  latter  "composition'"  could  not  have 
been  more  praised  had  it  been  written  by 
Jules  Verne.  It  was  thought  so  very  im 
aginative.  How  could  it  well  have  been 
otherwise? 

I  was  kept  at  this  school  for  a  year,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  but  that  the  training  was 
very  good  for  me.  When  the  day  of  my 
departure  came,  at  the  end  of  the  school 
year,  I  was  very  sad.  Xot  only  because  I 
was  going  to  say  good-bye  to  companions 
and  teachers  of  whom  I  had  grown  very 
fond,  but  because  of  a  debt  I  saw  no 
means  of  paying.  "Charge  it"  was  always 
so  easy  to  say  that  I  had  said  it  too  fre 
quently  for  my  happiness. 

The  woman  who  kept  a  confectionery 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.  343 

shop  un<K'r  the  very  shadow  of  Ivy  Lodge 
was  of  a  trusting'  nature,  and  the  conse 
quence  was  that  I  had  run  up  an  account 
with  her  that  far  exceeded  my  allowance. 
The  day  before  the  school  closed  L  re 
ceived  her  hill: 


Miss   X.  (ilLHKRT,   Dr. 

To   KMKLIXK  HANDOVKi;. 
Fur  candy,  ice-cream  and  pickles 

as    per    hill   rendered $5 

Please  remit. 


Five  dollars!  Where  was  such  a  fortune 
as  that  coining  from?  I'm  sure  that  I 
did  not  know.  I  had  just  money  enough 
for  mv  railway  ticket  home,  and  that  was 
all.  I  wondered  if  Fmeline  would  have 
me  arrested.  \Vould  I  he  in  the  village 
lock-up,  playing'  chequers  with  my  nose, 
as  it  was  lightly  called,  when  all  the  other 
girls  were  going  gayly  to  their  several 
homes?  It  was  horrible  to  think  of,  and  L 
shuddered  as  J  thought. 

It  was  tht:  very  last  day  of  school,  and 
my  heart  lay  heavy  within  me.  Our  priii- 


344  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

cipal,  who  was  a  very  religious  woman, 
had  often  talked  to  us  about  the  efficacy 
of  prayer.  "Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given 
unto  you,"  she  had  frequently  quoted  to 
us,  and  cited  instances  to  prove  the  truth 
of  the  statement.  Now  was  an  opportun 
ity  for  me  to  find  out  just  how  much  truth 
was  in  it.  I  went  up  to  my  room,  locked 
the  door,  got  down  on  my  knees  and  asked 
heaven  to  help  me  pay  Emeline  Hand 
over's  bill.  Then  I  rose  from  my  knees 
and  went  down  stairs,  and  in  the  hall  met 
one  of  the  seniors,  who  had  just  returned 
from  the  post-office. 

"Here's  a  letter  for  you,  Xell,  the  only 
one  that  came  by  this  mail,"  she  said,  giv 
ing  it  to  me. 

I  examined  the  post-mark  and  the 
handwriting,  and  failed  to  recognize 
either.  Then  I  opened  the  letter  and  out 
dropped  a  five-dollar  bill!  It  was  from  a 
relative  who  had  never  written  me  a  letter 
or  sent  me  a  dollar  before.  The  letter  was 
short,  but  to  the  point.  "Girls  always 
need  a  little  money  when  they  are  leaving 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   345 

school,"  it  ran;  "perhaps  this  five  dollars 
will  help  you  pay  oil'  some  little  bill."  If 
this  was  not  a  direct  answer  to  prayer, 
1  should  like  to  know  what  it  was?  I 
wouldn't,  however,  care  to  encourage  any 
one  to  rely  too  firmly  on  this  means  of 
paying  hills.  Subsequent  trials  were  not 
so  successful,  and  I  have  found  by  experi 
ence  that  the  best  way  to  pay  bills  is  not 
to  owe  them. 


Shortly  after  my  re!  urn  home  my  father 
died.  He  contracted  a  fatal  disease  while 
nursing  some  of  his  men  in  the  hospital. 
His  time  was  up,  and  he  was  about  to  re 
turn  to  his  family,  but  a  high  sense  of 
duty  called  him  to  the  side  of  the  sick  and 
suffering,  and  he  obeyed. 

Celestial  balm,  the  Spirit's  holy  ministry, 

Tie  brought,  and  only  he  ; 

AVhere  men  who  blanched  not  at   the  battle's 

shell  and  shot 
Trembled,  and  entered  not. 

I  will  not  dwell  upon  this  tragedy.  Tt 
nearly  killed  my  mother,  but  she  aroused 


346  Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy. 

herself  for  the  sake  of  her  children,  who 
were  more  dear  to  her  now  than  ever. 

Sandy  was  still  in  the  army  and  an  older 
brother  was  following  an  ill-paid  profes 
sion  in  Xcw  York.  Dicksey,  who  was 
scarcely  twenty,  had  been  out  with  the 
emergency  men,  and  was  now  at  home, 
having  just  been  mustered  out  of  the  ser 
vice,  the  war  being  nearly  over.  A  position 
was  made  for  him  in  a  railroad  office, 
and  his  small  earnings,  with  my  mother's 
pension  as  an  officer's  widow,  were  all  that 
we  had  to  live  on. 

Xow  was  the  time  for  me  to  realize  my 
ambition — to  work  for  my  living.  I  re 
member  well  the  evening  that  T  an 
nounced  my  decision  to  Dicksey,  who  had 
assumed  a  fatherly  position  in  the  family. 
lie  was  digging  in  the  garden,  and  I  was 
hoeing  by  his  side. 

"Dicksey,"  said  I,  leaning  on  my  hoe, 
"I  want  to  speak  to  you  on  a  matter  of 
great  importance."  He  stopped  to  listen, 
with  one  foot  resting  on  his  spade. 

"  'Speak,  and  let  the  worst  be  known, 


KY.    T    HAVE    MAI)!:    VI'    MY    MIND    TO    WORK. ''' 


Autobiography  of  a  Tomboy.   349 

speaking  may  relieve  you!'  "  he  quoted  jo 
cosely. 

"Dieksey,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
work — to  help  support  the  family." 

''Oil,  no,"  lie  answered,  while  an  expres 
sion  of  pain  crossed  his  brow.  ''I  can  do 
it  all  well  enough.  I  couldn't  hear  the 
thought  of  my  sister  going  out  into  the 
world  to  work/' 

"Kven  if  you  could  do  it  all,  I  should 
want  to  do  something;  hut  that  is  im 
possible,  we  are  too  large  a  family.  I'm 
going  to  do  my  share." 

"J  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  that  way." 
"I  am  determined  to  hoe  my  o\vn  row." 
"You    are    doing    that    now,"    said    he, 
smiling,   and    pointing  to   the   implement 
upon  which   I  was  leaning. 
"I  am  serious;  don't  joke." 
"What  do  you  propose  doing?" 
"The  first  tiling  that  I  can  get  to  do." 


]  got  a  position  in  an  office  a  few  weeks 
later  and  hegan  work.  The  Tomboy's 
play  days  were  over. 


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